


Desert Crossing

by ankti



Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankti/pseuds/ankti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The immortal Jacob Kalin, still new to the Game, meets someone who claims the Game should not drive immortals' lives. <br/>*Updated 10/8/15 with edits*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

North Africa, 687 C.E.

A white scarf covered the lower half of his face, protecting his pale skin from the harsh sun and blowing sand. Wind picked up the loose end of the scarf, whipping it around his head.

The sun looked like a small yellow fire, burning a hole in the center of the sky. The wide streets of the city were covered in dust and sand which blew in every direction when the strong winds off the sea barreled through the streets. The short sandstone buildings cast no shadow at this hour.

A flood of sound poured through the empty street before him, yells and cries, hundreds of feet moving together. A second later the street filled with a crush of people, pushing and shoving at each other as they called out in the sharp local tongue he barely spoke. He understood enough about the disturbances to know he should leave the city before sundown, but he wasn't yet sure the safest way out. Most of the gates were surrounded by unruly crowds and the docks were in turmoil.

If the citizens stopped their uproar for their noon prayer it might calm them, but it might not. For now they were ignoring him. Still mounted on his black horse, the scarf around his face, it was not obvious that he was a foreigner. Some might take him for a wealthy citizen. But as the outcry turned from words to action, he would soon be a target.

He grabbed at the loose end of his scarf, tucked it into the front of his shirt and kicked at the flanks of his horse. As it trotted forward he moved his hand down to the hilt of his sword, the familiar roughness of its leather grip making him feel more secure. Instead of forcing his way across the street or against the wave of people, he stayed close to sandstone walls, moving with the crowd until he came to a side street and could turn away toward the city's outer walls.

If he understood the woman at the stable correctly, there was a caravan leaving out the eastern gate and it was accepting foreigners. It was a safer bet than the docks, where at least one European had been attacked trying to board a boat.

When he left the main street and turned into a mostly empty alley he lifted his hand from his sword and draped it over the pommel of the saddle, still holding the reins in his other hand.

He had liked the look of the sandstone buildings when he'd first entered the city, and liked the food, fragrant and spicy. It had felt welcoming, like a place he could settle. The people were fiery, animated. Passion and life radiated from them and he'd found it invigorating. Maybe in a few years, or a few decades, their xenophobia would dissipate and he could return.

The wind kicked up little dirt devils in the street before him. Each died in seconds and another one would sprout up a few feet away.

The eastern wall loomed before him, a darker color than the pink-grey stone used to build the single story houses and shops that filled the city. He felt weary at the thought of leaving the city so soon, at being back out on the road. He'd spent most of the last fifteen years on the road, alone. Even if he barely spoke the language and had little in common with the people here, he was still in human company.

He tried to recall anything about the last decade and half besides days and night of training and practice. Something besides the brief, violent encounters with other immortals. All he could remember were nights alone in the road, and days on horseback.

Every few minutes small crowds would appear, dashing down alleys or across the side streets. One group stopped in the alley in front of him. A young man, probably not yet twenty, stared at him. Maybe he had noticed the small patch of pale skin not hidden by Jacob's scarf, or seen that the sword at his waist was a foreign Roman blade. The boy's angry green eyes bore into him, challenging him. The other boys pulled at their friend, trying to get him to continue toward the front of the city were the crowds were converging.

On his horse, Jacob put one hand back on his sword hilt and lifted the other to the scarf but did not pull it away from his face.

One of the boys, taller, but also probably younger than the one staring him down, pulled at his companion's arm and said something. All Jacob could understand was the word for 'hurry.' The boy moved slowly forward at his friends' prodding, not taking his eyes of Jacob.

When they were past he continued down the alley, but did not take his hand from the sword. Soon the wall was so close he could make out the cracks and fissures in it, caused by endless days baking in the hot sun. Most were repaired and sealed, but the scars remained.

A dense, cloudy feeling overwhelmed his head, like it had been packed with thick layers of cotton. His hand flexed instinctively around his sword and a calm spread out from his gut. All distraction passed away and he felt driven, knowing his purpose. There was an immortal to fight.

His calm was almost instantly disturbed when he recalled his surroundings. To challenge another immortal here, now, with a riot imminent, would be dangerous.

He rounded another corner and saw a large stable, camels and horses clustered under its wooden overhang. Over two dozen people were gathered, waiting for the caravan to leave. Some stood, others sat on benches, while some sprawled in the dirt. He suspected the immortal was among them, but could not pick any one person out.

He'd met close to a dozen immortals since learning about the Game and the rules. He'd challenged each one in turn and won each time. It had always been easy to pick an immortal out of a crowd. They, like Jacob, would be studying those around them, trying to find the threat.

He climbed down from his horse, pulling the scarf away from his face. His beard had grown in, coarse brown and black hair that was just starting to itch. His long nose was burnt at the tip from overexposure to the sun, when he'd not yet known to protect his face with the scarf.

Leading his horse along the crowd he studied the faces of the men in turn. One looked up at him from a bench, a man with skin even darker than the locals. He watched Jacob with large brown eyes, inclining his head slightly in greeting.

A woman leaned against him, her face covered in a thin veil of black cloth and her body hidden completely in a black wrap. Her head rested on his shoulder, one arm draped over his lap. The man had a long, curved blade at his waist. Though many men carried such weapons, Jacob knew from the way the man tensed his fingers over the hilt that this was the immortal.

"Jacob Kalin," he said, inclining his head at the darker man.

"Rotnati," the man said, thumping two finger against his chest. Bright sunlight shown off his bald scalp. His eyes were narrow and his thick nose bent in the middle as though it had once been broken.

He jerked his shoulder, upsetting the woman's balance, then spoke in the vulgar Greek that was a common trade language along the sea,"This is my companion, Qhei."

The woman started, lifting her head and leaning forward. She looked up, apparently surprised to find a man standing above them. Through the veil all Jacob could see were brown eyes, still hazy with sleep, and tan skin. As she straightened he noticed a bulge along the outside of her right leg. He recognized it as scabbard strapped under the fabric.

She was also an immortal.

He was taken aback. Had she really been sleeping? Resting her head on another immortal? Had she not felt the pulsing buzz in her head as Jacob approached? Or maybe it was a ploy, maybe she only pretended to be sleeping.

"If you've come to join the caravan the guides are over there, preparing the camels." Rotnati's accent was heavy, giving his words a rich, musical tone.

"Don't let them charge you more than sixty," the woman spoke, her voice somewhat muffled by the veil, "They started off charging less, but as more come in," she gestured her hand at the crowd, "they have been taking advantage."

Jacob stood, his broad shoulders hunched, looking between them. These two immortals were clearly allies. He knew it happened, but had not yet encountered it. He had been taught to treat it like any other challenge, but he could not help but worry what the second immortal would do as he fought the first one.

"There are deserted streets a short walk from here, with so many people consumed by this unrest, we should not be disturbed." Jacob was aware of how foreign his voice sounded, how even the Greek sounded labored on his tongue.

The dark man looked to the woman, she only stared at Jacob.

"Is this boy proposing we fight him, Qhei?" Rotnati asked.

"Only one of you, whoever chooses. I have no objections to fighting a woman, I've taken the heads of two women."

"Have you?" Rotnati sounded less than impressed.

"In the middle of this," the woman stood and Jacob stepped back, gripping tightly to his sword, "you would propose a fight and a quickening?"

"That is what we do." He stared into her dark eyes, which were now clear of sleep.

She reached up to her veil, pulling it away. She had a long oval face and strong cheekbones. Her lips were pale compared to her dark sink. The scowl that cut her face made her look almost matronly.

"That is what fools do. This caravan will leave just after the midday prayer. I intend to be on it and not delayed by something as idiotic as the Game." Without the veil her voice was sharp, biting.

Jacob turned to the man, "Then you will fight me."

Rotnati laughed, a deep sound that felt like it was coming out of the earth, "It's too hot to fight.”

"You both refuse to fight?" He spat the words out, looking between the two immortals with clear contempt.

"You should be thankful. Either challenge,” he gestured between the woman and himself, “is a fight you were unlikely to win." He smiled at Jacob, a warm smile that seemed at odds with his mocking words.

"You should be concerned with getting out of this city before they start rounding up outsiders." Qhei took a step closer to Jacob and he pulled his sword part way free of its scabbard.

She stopped instantly and Rotnati stiffened, his hand frozen on his own sword.

"The mortals of this city are of no concern, this is about the Game." Jacob said calmly, somewhat insulted that he had to explain the importance of the Game to others of his kind.

She leaned her head closer to him, still making no move to her sword. He glanced down at the scabbard, wishing she would draw it so they could continue on with what must be done.

"Do you know why they do this? Why this city is about to erupt?"

He shook his head.

"Babies were dying in childbirth, no more than usual, but some took their mothers with them. One of those was the daughter of the Kalif,” she sighed. "People have been hungry, the same coins that filled their bellies a year ago aren't as filling this year. The weather is too hot and the sea is plagued by storms. They are turning the everyday tragedies of humanity into an enemy. They think the city is under a curse."

Jacob shook his head again, "Stupid superstitions."

The woman laughed at him, her scowl lifting into a mocking grin, "Says the man who's ready to cut the head off a stranger because he was told that is what immortals do."

"Only fools think immortals are anything but enemies." The words came out of him without thought.

"Then Qhei and I are great fools." Rotnati pulled at the woman's wrap, indicating she should sit again. She complied and crossed her legs; the gesture pressed the outline of her scabbard tighter against the fabric. "But we are fools who will leave this city with our heads on our shoulders. You do know how they execute people here, don't you?" He ran his index finger along his neck from ear to ear.

"Headman's axe," Qhei narrated his action, "He usually gets it in one cut, but a thick neck like yours might take two."

Jacob shifted on his feet and glanced at the crowd surrounding the stables.

"If a duel doesn't draw attention, a quickening surely would, and good luck to the immortal covered in lightning bolts, trying to convince these people he had no part in a curse." Rotnati laughed again.

Jacob's horse pawed at the ground behind him. It seemed the two would not fight him, but he didn't think it would be safe to join them on the caravan. They may have allied with each other for now, but they were unlikely to extend that to him.

A tall man, one of the locals, left a cluster of camels and walked along line of travelers, talking to each in turn. Before he'd made it all the way to them Qhei called out in the local tongue, too fast for Jacob to follow any of it. The man glanced at her, but did not respond. She called louder, this time gesturing him over to her. The man flashed her an annoyed look, and ran over. He inclining his head at her, but looked upon her exposed face with a twisted scowl.

As she and the tall man spoke, Qhei gestured to Jacob and the man spun to look at him, nodding.

"He's agreed to charge you only fifty to travel with us," she said to Jacob, "He'll waive the fee entirely if you agree to sell your horse to his cousin."

Both Qhei and the tall man were pointing now, to an older man standing by the stables.

"What?" Jacob dropped his sword back in its scabbard, his mind hurrying to process what she’d said, "I'm not selling my horse, and I'm not traveling with either of you."

"Then stay here and lose your head, it's no concern of ours," Rotnati said, though his tone was not as harsh as his words.

Qhei looked up at him, her brown eyes seemingly sincere, "The only way out of this city with your head on your shoulders is with these men." She gestured to the tall man, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to leave the conversation.

Jacob shifted his weight from one foot to another, completely at a loss for what to do or say next.

Qhei sighed, "If you are so intent on taking a head, I will fight you, but after we are safely out of here and across this desert."

He looked to the gate and after a pause said, "How long is the journey?" He'd traveled to the city by ship and knew almost nothing of the land beyond.

"Just over a week."

Jacob laughed, looking cynically between the immortals, "You expect me to trust traveling with you for that long? Sleeping in the same camp with you?"

"You don't strike me the type to kill a man in his sleep. Why would you think we were capable of such treachery?" Rotnati looked genuinely insulted by the insinuation.

"We are enemies." Jacob said plainly.

The tall man shifted around, nervous and in a hurry, glancing at men now setting out their prayer rugs near the stables, seemingly eager to join them.

Bells rang across the city and a man's voice called the prayer. But what was usually a single voice, calm and clear, was drowned out by a hundred others. Though Jacob did not know the words, the intent was clear, they were calling for blood, for some sacrifice that would end their plight.

He knew he was unlikely to survive a night in the city. If these two immortals really believed their words, that they had no need to fight, he might be safe. If they did not, it still might be better to trust his sword arm to defend him rather than stay in the city.

He tried to speak to the tall man, but struggled so badly with the words he wasn't sure anything he'd said was understood. Finally he sighed and addressed Qhei.

"Tell him I'd like passage."

She nodded and repeated his words in the jagged language. The tall man nodded frantically and hurried away.

Jacob took the reins of his horse and went to follow him.

"You'll want to talk to the stableman about your horse. I'll speak for you if you are worried about being understood." Qhei leaned forward as if about to stand again.

"I'm not selling my horse." He wrapped an arm protectively underneath the horse's neck.

"Oh, you'll not want to take this beast out into the desert." Rotnati said, standing and striding over to the horse.

Jacob wanted to draw his blade again, but did not, trying to play along with their act of diplomacy.

"He is a lovely animal," Rotnati continued, "It would be a shame to have to slaughter him."

"You think he wouldn't survive the journey?"

"That's what we were told." Rotnati inclined his head to the guides who were now all engaged in prayer.

"I've traveled these sands." Qhei said, "it would be folly to take a horse out there at this time of year."

Rotnati bent and rubbed up and down the horse's leg. "His hooves are too small, his legs too thin. He will sink into the sand, break his leg. If not, then he will drink up all our water. Horses can do well in the desert when you are going quickly, if they travel over solid ground. But we will move slowly and over too many dunes."

"If you care for the animal, leave it here. If you are willing to make it a feast during our travels, then by all means, bring it along." Qhei watched from the bench, her arms crossed, the veil dangling beside her face.

Looking back over the gathered crowd and pack animals, he saw that there were only camels out in the line, some weighed down with supplies, other wearing large saddles draped in blankets.

He pulled his horse's face down to his and stroked the animal on the nose. It snorted and pushed its head against him. He'd had the horse for almost two years. Jacob had stayed with him as they pitched through huge waves, soothing and comforting the animal, in the ship that brought them to the city.

Jacob rubbed the small white patch between the horse's eyes then pulled the reins to the side so he was looking the animal in the eye.

"It's ok," he stroked it along the neck, "we'll be ok."

He looked up to the stable and reluctantly pulled on the reins, leading the horse. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Qhei following, covering her face again with the veil. She hurried her steps until she walked next to him.

He was aware of how little distance separated them. Her long wrap rustled and her right hand hung down at her side, nearly brushing against him with each step. He felt exposed, vulnerable. The last time he'd been this close to another immortal without a blade between them was when he still studied with Gracvius, learning the rules of the Game.

"As healthy and strong as he is, you should get a good price, not just the cost of travel." Qhei turned her head to inspect the horse, "Rotnati sold his horse to this man, he will try to convince you he's doing you a favor by taking it," she looked back to Jacob, "When he saw we wouldn't be duped, he gave us a fair price."

Jacob did not reply, running his hand down the horse's neck, always aware of just how far his sword was from his hand.

The other travelers they passed turned their heads with mild interest. Most were foreigners, like Jacob, some obviously European, others darker like Rotnati. The dirty, warm smell of camel fur grew stronger as they approached the stables. It was so unlike the smell of horse, which was familiar and welcoming to Jacob. It was heavier, more acidic. He curled back his lip, exposing his crooked teeth.

"A week, traveling on those thing?" He looked at the closest animal, covered in patchy tan fur and surrounded by flies.

Qhei walked up to the camel, rubbing its side and patting it just under the hump. It didn't have a saddle and sat in the dirt, swishing its short tail and chewing cud.

"They are very reliable, and very sweet. Maybe not so arrogant as horses."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Arrogant?"

"Horses are trained to do a thousand tricks. Some men even teach them to dance. Camels might be vain and rude, but they are not haughty about their duties."

Jacob let out a quick laugh and looked Qhei up and down, suddenly wishing she would pull the veil away again so he could see her expression, see if she were joking with him. Her eyes looked bright, maybe playful. He shook away the thought.

His horse stepped nervously, uncomfortable around so many other animals. He patted the horse on the nose.

"Can we just get this over with?" he said, gesturing to the stableman, who was just rising from prayer.

Qhei nodded and let him lead the way to the wooden stables.

The stableman had a deeply wrinkled face and big hazel eyes. They seemed to hang in the middle of his head, pulled downward by the heavy skin around them. His nose came to a sharp point like a beak, which was a common feature with the local men.

Jacob stopped close enough to see a cluster of blemishes along the man's jaw and around his ear. He started talking, pointing between the horse and Jacob, talking so quickly Jacob had to close his eyes just to focus on the sounds.

Qhei spoke and the old man started speaking louder and more rapidly, jabbing a finger into Jacob's chest. Jacob opened his eyes and held out his hands, trying to ask the old man to slow down.

"Qhei," he started, feeling uncomfortable asking anything of the immortal, "can you ask him if a horse can make the journey."

"He is going to say no."

"Please," he looked to her, then to the white patch on the horse’s nose, "just ask."

She spoke to the man. Again his voice increased in pitch and he jabbed Jacob in the chest. Jacob looked up and scowled at the man. The man’s wrinkled face was pulled in a frown, annoyed and demanding. Qhei spoke louder, holding out her hands to try and get the old man to listen to her.

"What is the matter?" Jacob asked, growing more annoyed.

Qhei shook her head, "He doesn't understand why he has to talk to a woman with you standing right here." She sounded weary, but not surprise.

Jacob rolled his eyes, "Because I have no idea what he's saying."

The man jabbed Jacob again and Jacob slapped the hand away, then pointed his own finger squarely in the man's face, "Stop!" his voice was stern and laced with all his frustration, "she is the one that understand you, speak to her," he pointed at Qhei.

The old man started again but Jacob cut him off, grabbing the man tightly on the shoulder, "Her. Talk to her," he spat out.

Anger and frustration made it hard to think. He longed to be back on his horse, riding away from here. He ground his teeth at the thought, dropping his hand from the man's shoulder as he finally relented to listen to the immortal woman.

The old man waved dismissively at everything Qhei said. She spoke patiently, casually moving her right hand to her hip, resting just above the outline of her scabbard.

Jacob's hand moved reflexively to his sword, resting on the hilt. He quickly studied her form under the wrap, trying to assess how strong she was, how quickly she would move in a fight. The clothes gave him few clues.

The old man was shaking his head, speaking to Jacob again, and pointing at Qhei.

"He says it would be cruelty to take the horse out," she said, “but for the horse he will give you twenty on top of paying your way in the caravan."

Jacob looked into the big black eye of his horse, rubbing him down the neck.

"He wants the saddle too." Qhei lifted her hand and stroked the other side of the horse's neck.

Jacob nodded slowly at her, then moved down the side of the horse, rubbing him down and unfastening his saddle bags. Qhei spoke again to the old man as Jacob slung the bags over his shoulder and moved to the other side to retrieve his remaining gear.

The bags and their contents were all he had. Most of it he would easily abandon if necessary. Besides his sword and enough coin to get by, he needed no possessions.

When he was done he passed the reins to the old man in exchange for a sack of coin. He poured the contents into his hand, counting it back into the sack. The old man was clearly offended, making a show of turning away and not watching, but mumbling loudly to himself. When he was sure he'd been paid fairly, Jacob stroked the horse one more time, and walked away. Qhei followed after.

Jacob looked back over his shoulder to the stable where the old man was taking the saddle off the horse and yelling at a young boy. He sighed deeply and adjusted the packs on his shoulder.

"Here," Qhei turned away, walking toward one of the camels, "load this one."

She stopped next to a camel, darker than the others, a saddle resting over its hump, colorful blankets hanging down its sides.

Jacob looked at her blankly.

"No one has claimed it yet, and it looks well tempered," she said, reaching for one of his bags to strap to the saddle.

He pulled back so she only grabbed air, "I’ll do it."

She crossed her arms, standing next to the camel. When it became obvious Jacob intended to say nothing else she turned back to the bench were Rotnati still sat.

"Thank you," Jacob said, not turning away from the camel, "for translating."

"We have to help each other when we can," she said, and walked back to the bench.

Jacob laughed without enthusiasm and adjusted his packs.

When the guides were ready to start, men moved through the crowd, giving directions and helping those who needed it to mount their camels. It was clear to Jacob that he was among the least experienced, having only ridden a camel once before, simply to see what it was like. He'd hated it then, and he hated it now.

Rotnati sat on his camel a few paces away, calling out suggestions as Jacob climbed into the saddle.

"The camel knows his job, all you need is to relax and enjoy the ride."

Jacob grunted and slung his leg over the large saddle. There was more padding then there would be on a horse. He hated how far he was from the animal's body, feeling he had little control.

One of the guides, the tall one who'd spoken to Qhei earlier, stood next to the camel, holding its head to the ground as Jacob mounted. He'd pointed to his chest and said "Abdu," so Jacob took that as his name.

Abdu pointed to the saddle and said something to Jacob, repeating it when Jacob did not respond.

"He says to hold the front of the saddle, so you don't get thrown around when the camel stands." Rotnati demonstrated by grasping the front of his saddle.

Jacob did the same and Abdu gave a command to the camel. The camel's legs straightened, back first then front. The two quick jerks jolted Jacob into the air, and his stomach gave a lurch.

Qhei rode up next to Rotnati, leaning over from her own saddle to pat his camel on the head. The bottom of her wrap was pulled up, exposing a red pant leg that clung tightly to her calf.

An excited murmur passed through the crowd. People looked back across the city, some covering their faces in astonishment, others moving quickly to complete their tasks. Jacob spun in the saddle to see a huge plume of dust and smoke rising over the tops of the sandstone buildings.

Qhei listened to the crowd, then reported, "It seems a mob is pulling down the trading houses along the docks, setting fires."

"Did your people get out?" Rotnati asked.

"We shut down two days ago and I told them not to return. Hopefully they listened to me." She watched the smoke, her eyes sharp.

Jacob briefly considered asking about their exchange, but did not. Though he would put on a show of cooperation during the journey, they were still immortals, still his enemies. There was no need to learn anything more about them.

"If we don't leave soon we will have to fight our way out." Qhei said, pulling back the wrap over her right leg.

Her camel blocked Jacob's view of the leg, so he could not see her scabbard, or what type of sword she carried.

A loud, high pitched voice came from the front of the line - one of the guides shouting orders to the rest. Everyone was mounted, all the supplies were loaded. Another order was called and the camels started forward.

Without instruction from him, Jacob's camel lurched forward, following Qhei's. He swayed uncomfortably in the saddle. Qhei's camel moved more rapidly than his and in a few moments he had a clear view of her right leg. A leather scabbard was tied overtop her red pants, a blue tassel hanging from its top. The sword itself was hidden in the case, but judging by the length of the scabbard, it had to be short.

A short sword required close fighting. She probably relied on speed and agility more than strength, which was a good tactic for a woman. If he could see more of her body, how muscled she was, how lean, he could gauge her endurance.

He looked to Rotnati. The dark man was easy to read. He moved slowly enough that he must rely on his strength and reach to fight. His curved blade was commonly worn by horse warriors and desert men. Jacob had fought another immortal carrying such a weapon. They had good reach and served well to block. He regretted not taking that sword, he'd come to think it might serve him better than the tapered Roman sword he carried. If he defeated Rotnati then he would take the sword and look for someone to instruct him in its use.

As they passed through the gates a huge noise echoed behind them. Jacob turned to look, along with many others in the line, more smoke and dust drifted over the city. It sounded like a building had collapsed, maybe more than one.

He cast his eyes quickly to the stable, seeing his large black horse face down in a trough, apparently content with his new owners. Jacob tried to console himself with that thought, but he missed the animal more with every step the camel took.

When they were through, the gatekeepers closed the doors behind them, blocking their view of the city and the still rising smoke. Spread before them was a sea of brown dirt, and a pale blue sky above. The few thin clouds broke apart as the wind pushed them across the sky. Small piles of boulders and withered looking shrubs provided the only scenery in the bleak landscape.


	2. Chapter Two

Conversation was sparse as the caravan made its way from the city. Jacob heard people behind him speaking Latin. He listened, his head cocked, but their accents were so heavy and unfamiliar that he understood only every few words.

Wind swept past them, picking up sand and dirt, surrounding them in a brown cloud. Jacob groped for his scarf, hurrying to cover his face, squinting to keep out sand. The camel let out a loud grunt, but did not alter its speed or path. For a moment he lost sight of everything but the saddle and the back of the camel’s head. The sand grated against his hands and forehead.

When the dust finally settled he was still in line with the other camels. The other riders were ducked down low, also shielding themselves from the gust.

He turned behind to see the walls of the city, grey and tan and fading slowly into the distance. He could still see the line of the coast, where the Mediterranean licked up onto the sandy shore. He briefly considered turning from the caravan, making for the coast, following it to another city rather than traveling more than a week with two immortals looming so close to him.

But he did not know the geography, did know know what cities were close, or if there even were cities in riding distance. And there was the camel. He as yet had not directed it to do anything, he wasn’t even sure he could command it to step out of the line.

Qhei and Rotnati rode just in front of him, speaking to each other in a mix of languages. Sometimes it was the vulgar Greek, but at others it sounded more rhythmic, with more guttural consonants. He wondered if they talked about him, maybe planning some way to take his head without drawing the attention of the other travelers.

Leaning down, he grasped the thin rope that served as reins. He pulled them slightly to the right and the animal complied, grunting as it turned. Quickly he pulled the reins to the left to stay in the line and the animal protested with a soft cry, but still followed his lead.

He kicked his legs into its flanks and clicked his tongue as he would with a horse. The camel hurried its pace. Perched as he was, the sudden movement upset Jacob’s balance. He wavered for a second before dropping one hand onto the saddle to steady himself. He kicked at the camel again, this time braced and ready.

Directing the camel slightly to the right, he passed Rotnati and Qhei, casting them a quick look and seeing that Qhei had once again removed her veil. She nodded at him and he curtly returned the gesture, then continued up the line, his eyes running over the scabbard on her leg before he turned completely away.

It was dark leather, well worn, and if his quick impression was correct, she had not one, but two swords in it. Two blue tassels hung from the scabbard, far enough apart that they likely were not connected to the same weapon.

He passed a camel weighed down with huge water skins. A quick look up and down the line told him that it was one of two animals carrying water. Gauging the volume of water, he determined it would not be enough to sustain such a large number of people for their whole journey.

Far to the right of the camel line, wind picked up sand in a swirling cloud. Jacob watched it move across the ground, skittering and dancing until it died out a moment later.

When he turned his attention back to the caravan he was just behind a cluster of riders. He assumed they were mostly the guides. They all spoke in the local tongue, and looked more at home on the camels than most men did on their feet. Abdu was among them, one of his legs folded in front of him across the saddle rather than hanging down to the side. He chatted with the others, smiling and joking. He turned his head when he noticed Jacob inspecting him.

Another guide, much older, with a greying beard and wearing a white head covering, followed Abdu’s gaze to Jacob. He had a long, dark face and the same hooked nose as the stableman. He said a word to the other men, then directed his camel to ride close to Jacob’s, waving at him and saying something Jacob recognized as a greeting.

Jacob returned a mangled greeting, hoping it would make clear how poorly he spoke the language. The man smiled at him, exposing huge white teeth.

“I am Al-Muizz,” he said in halting Greek, “I lead caravan.” He gestured up and down the line of camels.

“Jacob Kalin.” He included his head.

Al-Muizz inspected Jacob, his eyes resting for a long moment on the hilt of his sword. Then he turned in his saddle and pointed behind them to Rotnati and Qhei, “You travel with woman and southman.”

Jacob scowled and shook his head, “No, they only translated for me, I travel alone.”

The man squinted at him, processing the Greek words before he responded. He nodded finally, smiling in acceptance.

“Yes, alone. Understand.” He laughed, “Woman,” he looked behind him with disapproval then looked back to Jacob, “she has no right place, and southman behave as woman.”

Jacob didn’t know exactly what he meant, but assumed it has something to do with how Qhei had unveiled, something few women did in public in this region. He nodded to Al-Muizz.

He pointed to the sword at Jacob’s waist, “Roman?”

“Yes, Roman.” Jacob gripped the handle.

Al-Muizz smiled, pleased with himself, “Romans, strong weapons.”

One of the guides called to Al-Muizz, yelping loudly and pointing to the horizon ahead. Jacob followed his gesture to a spot far to the south west; lumpy shapes took form where the ground met the sky.

Al-Muizz waved a dismissive hand at the other man and said something in Arabic, then turned to Jacob, leaning slightly in his saddle.

“Scared like children,” he said as though he was explaining something.

Jacob squinted into the distance, blocking the sun with his hand to aid his view.  From what he could tell the spots on the horizon were only rocks, or maybe hills.

“What do they fear?”

“Thieves, killers. Hide in rock mountains. Attack weak ones, but we not weak ones.” He wrapped his hands around the hilt of his own sword. The thin curved blade hung from a tie without a sheath.

Jacob nodded again. Trade and travel routes were often plagued with raiders, he did not expect it to be any different on this side of the world, though he did wonder where such men could find refuge in the desert. The thought reminded him of the camel loaded with water.

“That water,” he pointed to the camels, “it is not enough to to last us a week.”

“Oasis,” Al-Muizz said calmly, pointing out into the distance.

Jacob understood the term, a spot of rest and a place to refresh in a harsh surrounding.

They rode next to each other for a long time, neither man speaking. Jacob felt an ember of comradery burning in his chest. He knew it was a weakness of his, to so readily look for companionship in mortals, but he could not stop it. He looked at Al-Muizz and saw a noble man, a man who enjoyed laughter and was proud of his own knowledge. Jacob pushed away thoughts of how soon this man would be behind him, like all the guides and ship hands, innkeepers and merchants Jacob had met in his life. He ignored that truth and simply allowed himself to enjoy the company.

The afternoon passed quickly, the burning orb of sunlight moving closer to the horizon, seeming to pick up speed as fell. What had started as small clumps of rock at the edge of the desert grew into a small ridge of mountains. Their sharp, black stones seemed to cut through the ground like a row of rotting teeth. Jacob guessed the raiders the guides feared must take shelter in the shadows and caves of those mountains.

Still, they were a long way off, any attack would be seen long before it would be a danger.

Jacob’s legs, hips, and back ached from the unusual posture in the saddle. He was eager to dismount and stretch, and maybe get far enough away from the animal to avoid its stench for the night.

When the procession finally came to a halt the sun had already set and the air was starting to cool. One of the guides, more of a boy than a man, with over large ears came to help Jacob dismount. With a few words he commanded the camel to kneel down then gave Jacob a hand as he swung his leg over the saddle.

The ground was softer than he’d expected. He looked down to see his feet sunk slightly into fine sand. It had passed his notice that they’d moved off packed dirt and stone to sand. He had a small tent and spikes in his pack, but he wasn’t sure he could pitch them in the sandy ground. He considered asking Al-Muizz how best to do it, but the man was surrounded by his people, giving orders.

No one seemed in much of a rush to set up tents or formalize their encampment. People chatted with each other, making up for the sullen silence of the day. What little Jacob understood told him most people were talking about the city, about what had come of the unrest.

Most of the guides were tending the camels, while a few dug a small pit and lit a fire. Jacob pulled some dried meat out of pack, and unstoppered his water skin. He crouched in the sand and took small bites of the meat, working in his mouth to soften it.

If he had been on his own, now would be the time to do rounds with his sword, practice his stances and work to keep his muscles strong. As he pictured it he heard Gracvius’ voice, cold and commanding, from his training - “If you want to survive as an immortal you must fight each day, even if you have no opponent.”

If he only traveled with mortals he would take the time for practice. Many mortals had seen him move through his stances, they usually watched like it was some street show. But there were other eyes tonight. Any display of his technique would only serve to give Qhei or Rotnati a preview of what he could do. It was a risk not worth taking.

The bright streaks of orange and purple that lit the sky after the sun vanished under the desert sand were fading to a dark blue. Stars winked to life like a swarm of insects.

A fire popped in the pit and the same boy that dug it out was working to dig a second one some distance away. As people gathered around the first fire it became obvious why a second one was needed. Though the firelight kept the darkness back, its circle was not enough for all the travelers. Peopled huddled close, talking and passing water skins.

A movement of red fabric caught Jacob’s eye. He turned his head to follow the shape and saw Qhei, her black wrap gone. Her red pants were wrapped tightly around her legs and a blue blouse hung loosely off her. She had greasy black hair that hung just below her narrow shoulders. She had a flat chest and round hips. His gaze dropped to her scabbard; the two blue tassels wavered with her every movement.

Rotnati still wore loose fitting grey and brown clothes, in the local style. He pulled a large skin and sack off his camel and handed the skin to Qhei.

Mumbles of conversation grew louder and Jacob strained to hear any familiar words. His concentration was broken when Abdu appeared next to him, saying something quickly in Arabic, bowing his head as if begging pardon. Before he could find any words to respond, Jacob saw the reins in Abud’s hand. He understood the man was taking the camel away to be with the others. Jacob was not sorry to see the animal walk away.

When he turned his attention back to the crowd, it seemed Rotnati and Qhei were a subject of conversation. The two had moved to the second firepit and a few others had joined them. Those who remained with the first fire made no attempt at subtlety as they pointed and gestured at the pair. Jacob wasn’t sure what was so scandalous, but he suspected it was that Qhei unveiled and did away with her wrap.

A quick glance around showed that there was only one other woman in the group, and she wore a long woven wrap of blue and white and yellow, her face covered by an embroidered flap.

Jacob stood and shivered unexpectedly in the cooling night air. He wrapped one arm around himself and looked up to the night sky. Already the stars were so clear he could make out a dozen constellations, a horse, a fish, a dancing woman.

“They watch us all.” A voice said behind him and a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

He turned to see Al-Muizz standing next to him, his white teeth bright in a wide grin. He smiled at the man, showing his own crooked teeth.

All around people moved. Someone set up a small stand over the flame and placed ceramic bowls on it. Fire licked the bowls, warming whatever was inside.

Al-Muizz walked with Jacob, then took a seat where the heat of the flames had already warmed the air. Jacob sat next to him. Al-Muizz crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees, Jacob put his feet on the ground and bent his legs, draping his arms over his knees.

Across the camp Rotnati was laughing loudly, orange firelight gleaming off the back of his bald head. Next to him Qhei was doubled over, it seemed also from laughter. The mortals gathered with them chuckled and smiled.

“How southman let her have such disgrace?” Al-Muizz said.

Jacob watched for a moment, staring at Qhei’s straight black hair.

“Is it because she does not veil?” he asked. When Al-Muizz only stared at him curiously he put one hand over his mouth, then took it away slowly, “She does not cover her face, is that disgrace?”

Al-Muizz nodded, understanding, “Others will know her as spoiled, not pure.” He shook his head, “And she wears weapons as a man.”

Jacob said nothing, knowing why she carried a sword.

Gracvius had taught Jacob that immortal woman were as deadly as men. They may not be naturally as strong, but a sharp blade in a skilled hand needs little strength to slice a man open.

Then there was the other weapon woman carried, an attack all men were weak to. One of the immortal women Jacob fought had tried to seduce him. She’d been short, blonde, with huge blue eyes. She batted her lashes at him and suggested they settle their dispute in a bed, not a battle. Her sweet words did nothing to mask what she really was, an immortal, an enemy.

It had not only been women who feigned comradery and interest to avoid a fight. Jacob had been stuck on a ferry for a morning with an immortal, a man with ruddy pink skin and a ruddy pink beard to match. He had tried to talk to Jacob, to joke about weather and women and about the very Game.

When they reached the other shore and Jacob challenge him, the man had said, “Why not part ways as friends.” Jacob had not answered.

The memory of driving his blade through that man’s pink, fleshy neck brought his thoughts back to the present, to the immortals sitting just a few paces away. Qhei was leaning on Rotnati, her arm wrapped around his.

It struck Jacob that they could be lovers. Surely that is what the others in the caravan saw when they looked at them together. The idea actually panicked him, imagining himself so close to an immortal, naked, impassioned, his sword forgotten somewhere.

He shook his head to clear away the image. Next to him Al-Muizz took a bowl from one of the boys doing the cooking. He grasped it gingerly then placed it quickly between the two of them. A sack was passed around the circle, when it reached Jacob he found it full of flatbread.

Al-Muizz gestured to the bowl, then took a piece of flatbread and dunked it in, coming away with a creamy, yellowish sauce.

Jacob copied him; the sauce was strong and grainy. He ate three pieces of bread covered in the yellow cream and listened to the Arabic all around him, trying to follow as much as he could. There was scattered singing and clapping, but it did not last. Soon Jacob felt drowsy and he leaned back onto one arm.

Rotnati’s stood, belching loudly. Jacob’s hand sprang to his sword as he watched the dark man move away from the fire to the edge of the circle of light.

Qhei leaned forward onto her hands, then pushed herself to her feet. She stopped to brush the sand from her hands and clothes before following Rotnati.

Before she was halfway there Rotnati drew his curved blade. Firelight shown off it. It was narrow at the hilt, growing wider as it curved. One edge, the sharp edge, Jacob knew, arched into a fine point. The dull edge had a small indenture near the end before it joined the sharp point.

Qhei’s blades were out before Jacob turned back to her. She held one in each hand. They were both straight, thin, simple. The one in her right hand was bigger, but only slightly, neither blade was longer than her forearm.

Jacob rose to a crouch, eager to see what was happen. Where they fighting? Had their alliance come to an end? He glanced quickly around the circle; all eyes were on the swords. Would they really fight with such an audience?

The only sounds were the crackle of fire, the occasional grunt of the camels, and the soft whisper Qhei’s feet made as she approached Rotnati.

He moved his sword up into a ready position, both hands on the round hilt. Qhei fell back into a defensive posture, one knee bent behind her, one sword covering her body, the other blocking her head.

Rotnati’s dark face was lost in the night, his sword hung in the air as if moving of its own will.

The two stood facing each other for what must have seemed a long time to the mortals watching, but to Jacob it was a familiar moment, the calm of strategy. Whoever struck first would control the pace of the first blows, but the time they spent advancing would give the other time to begin a counter strike. Both choices left you vulnerable.

Jacob’s heart beat heavily, but steadily, in his chest. He imagined himself as both figures, tried to picture what he would do in their place.

Quiet murmurs rustled through the camp, only to be cut off seconds later as the whole crowd gasp at once.

Rotnati’s sword came down, the dancing shaft of light left trails in the air, moving so quickly none but Jacob could see the moves as they happened.

Rotnati searched for a way past Qhei’s defense. She seemed content to deflect his blows, her swords moving in controlled patterns to meet each strike. The large man drove her backwards, her feet moved carefully through the sand.

Her left leg dropped, a clumsy move, her knee buckled. Jacob barely had time to consider that she might have slipped in the sand before her true intent was obvious.

Rotnati had fallen for the ruse, swinging wide to strike at what he expected to be her unguarded right shoulder. His blade rang uselessly against her short sword and she’d lunged forward, inside his guard.

Her longer sword came up and bit into the meat of his chest. Another gasp ran through the crowd, but Jacob was sure it was not for the injury. All untrained eyes would have seen of the whole exchange, which lasted less than a second, was Qhei somehow gaining the upper hand.

Rotnati had his sword back where it could do him some good, moving frantically to deflect her blades. But it was too late, she was too close, it was only a matter of time now. Qhei landed more and more good hits, the true severity of which were hidden in the darkness, and Rontani grew weaker and weaker.

A slash at his knee brought him down, her sword rounded on his neck before his knees had sunk into the sand.

Then they were still, looking into each others’ eyes. Her blade rested against his neck and Jacob felt his own skin crawl in sympathy.

Rotnati laughed and pushed away her sword with his hand.

“Help me up you lying woman.”

Jacob exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding.

“You call me a liar?” Her swords vanished into their scabbard and she reached a hand to him.

“You lie every time you fight. I should know better by now.”

There was applause and sudden conversation around the fires. Neither Qhei or Rotnati acknowledged it as they made their way back to their place. Rotnati held a scarf over his chest, hiding the worst of the wounds, hiding the blood from a cut that was no longer there.

The voices around the fire obscured Jacob’s ability to hear the immortals. He jerked his head around, trying to keep his eyes on them as people moved out, setting up bedrolls.

“Crazy.” Al-Muizz declared, his hands still resting on his crossed legs.

“They are not weak ones.” Jacob told him.

Jacob set up his own bedroll far from the fire. He would have preferred the privacy of his tent, but no one else pitched tents, so he made due.

Each time he began to drift to sleep he shot back upright moments later. His eyes darted to the other immortals were they still sat, leaning against each other, talking quietly as those around them drifted into sleep.

Keeping his hand on his sword, Jacob tried to find a position to lie in where he could still watch them. Each position either ached too much, or did not allow him strong enough grip on his weapon.

Despite his discomfort his eyes eventually drifted closed. Still, a persistent itch rippled through his muscles, the unease of disuse. The fight he’d witnessed played out in his mind. He saw himself fighting Rotnati, then Qhei. The muscles in his arms and legs twitched as he imagined himself blocking, parrying, advancing.

Sleep never completely overtook him and the images of the swordfight dominated his mind. When he could take sitting still no longer, his eyes snapped open and he rose to his feet. The camp was quiet, rhythmic breathing filling the night air like a chorus. He looked to where the two immortals had been sitting and saw only prone forms.

Taking care to make as little sound as possible, he walked away from the camp into the dark desert. Soon he was far enough away that almost no firelight reached him. He turned to see the fire burning far away, then looked back to the desert. The only thing illuminating his path was starlight and a small strip of moon. Sure that he could not be seen from so far away, he took his sword from its sheath.

The sturdy Roman blade was his only true companion. The familiar weight and balance of it spoke to him, told him he was not alone.

He pulled the scarf from his head. Dirt, grime, and sweat caused his unkempt hair to stand up, pressed into odd angles by long hours in the scarf.  He removed his jacket and pants, so he wore only his smallclothes and his loose white shirt.

The cool night air blew against his skin, goose pimples rose on his flesh. He sucked in the breeze and stepped seamlessly into a fighting stance.

His muscled arms danced through the motions they had done a thousand times. His feet slipped some under him in the loose ground, but he was able to steady himself.

Once he had done the routine five times he moved on to the fight. He put himself in Rotnati’s place. The black man had lost and Jacob wanted to find a way to win in his place.

The sword whistled through the air and the sand shifted under his feet. He closed his eyes, blocking imaginary blows and looking for holes in Qhei’s defense.

He pretended to falter as Qhei had done, but in his mind she read that for what it was and turned his move against him.

In the end the only advantage he had was his superior strength. He moved his sword to one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other then shoved his shoulder hard into her chest and threw her off balance.  His sword was around again, knocking away her short sword and he kicked at her legs, driving her to the ground. One half spin brought his blade through her neck.

He opened his eyes.

Qhei stood between him and the distant firelight, her arms across her chest. For a heartbeat he wondered how she’d gotten off her knees, then his mind was clear.

“Did you come to fight me?” He pointed the sword at her.

She cocked her head, he could not see her expression in the weak moonlight.

“I only came to watch.”

“You want to learn how I fight.” His voice carried a sharp edge of accusation.

“Actually, I find watching a handsome man work at swordplay to be its own reward,” it was not said in a girlish or playful way, but directly.

Jacob barked a harsh laugh, “And next you will tell me we should work out our dispute in a bed, not a battle,” he sneered.

“Well,” she took a step toward him, her arms still crossed, “now that you mention it, I do find sex as rewarding as swordplay, with the added benefit that no one has to die,” she shrugged, “Usually.”

He continued to point the sword at her, breathing steadily.

“Did you enjoy the show tonight?” she asked.

“Was that for my benefit? Maybe distract me with false techniques.”

She shook her head, the moonlight bouncing off her dark hair, “How paranoid the Game makes us.” She paused, watching him. Jacob stared at the two tassels hanging from her waist, “It was for our benefit, Rotnati and mine. Each day you are immortal you must fight, opponent or no.”

Jacob lowered his blade some and looked up, squinting to see her face.

“Maybe you will join us tomorrow night.”

“I doubt that,” he answered with disdain.

“That’s your choice,” she said and turned back to the camp.

“Is he your lover?” Jacob called, not sure why the question had been so eager in his mind.

Qhei shrugged, “No, just a companion.”

He watched her walk all the way back to her bedroll, moving gracefully between sleeping figures. When she was prone and unmoving, he picked up his clothes and returned to his own bedroll. He did not sleep that night, but watched across the camp, his sword in his lap.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Jacob swayed atop the camel, gripped the saddle and missed his horse. The discomforts of desert travel, the heat, the sand, the stench of camel, floated at the edge of his awareness like a fog. The harsh light, the bright oranges and yellows of the sand and dirt, stung his eyes. He squinted against it, holding his eyes open just wide enough to see the top of his camel’s head.

He had been without meaningful sleep for the last three nights. Paranoia and fear clawed at his mind, keeping him alert after the caravan made camp each night. He understood the irrationality of it as he watched Qhei and Rotnati and saw that they did not stir in the night, did not watch him or look for a chance to strike. Yet that other part of his mind, the part that spoke with Gracvius’ voice, told him to remain ever vigilant.

In the short moments when sleep finally overtook him he still heard the voice, and saw his teacher’s disapproving glare.

The voice fit the man better than any Jacob had ever known. It was gravely and grey, making a room seem colder as it echoed off walls. It had sounded sad to Jacob, tired and worn, and Gracvius had seemed tired, his blue-grey eyes looking truly ancient. He was more than a head taller than the average man, but slimly built; he loomed above Jacob like some monstrous insect. He stood with a slouch, as though the weight of all his years rested invisibly on his narrow shoulders.

Gracvius never told Jacob his exact age, but claimed to have seem Rome rise up out of the seven hills, and to have traveled deep into Asia long before Alexander.

When Jacob fell into his brief dreams, he would hear Gracvius bark quick, disappointed orders, his small, round mouth turned in a frown. Jacob would wake with a start, his eyes darting first to the sword that still rested in his hand, then to his enemies across the camp.

The tightly wound energy of the nights vanished under the oppressive desert sun. He tried to doze, as he would have on his horse, but the unfamiliar posture of the huge saddle made it nearly impossible. He saw many guides and even Al-Muizz close their eyes for long stretches of time, and he deeply envied them. If he could find his rest during the day, while the caravan moved, he could keep his vigil each night.

He knew he would not be able to fight sleep another night. His stomach clenched at the thought and his eyes opened wider, dimly taking in his surroundings.

The whisper of sand blowing across sand was the only sound besides the grunts and steps of the camels. The heat seemed to squelch any impulse at exertion; even simple conversation was hard to maintain, leaving the long line of riders silent.

Jacob scanned the figures for the other immortals, finding Rotnati three riders ahead. He sat limply in his saddle, his dark, bald head partially covered by a green scarf. Qhei was not next to him. Her absence aroused Jacob’s suspicions and he sat up straighter in his saddle, turning around to locate her.

He spotted the only other woman rider, who he had learned was Al-Muizz’s niece. She still wore a long blue and yellow wrap and a head covering. It took him a moment to realized one of the riders next to her was Qhei. Her dark hair was hidden in a white scarf. Her red pants barely showing out from under a grey wrap.

Like many of the locals she seemed to think more layers of clothing, not less, was the best way to fight the heat. Al-Muizz explained to Jacob on their second day that it reduced the need to drink. But Jacob could barely stand his jacket and his white scarf in the heat, wearing them only to guard against the burning sun.

His eyes stung and he turned back around in his saddle, closing his eyes and rubbing them. A brief feeling of relief spread through him when his lids closed, and he imagined for a moment that he was going to sleep. He exhaled slowly, trying to relax his muscles, which ached and strained simply from being held upright so long.

Part of him thought instinctively to wrap his feet securely in the stirrups as sleep clouded his head and he drifted into a dream.

The dream returned him to his thoughts of Gracvius. He recalled his last day with his teacher, his last day living on the immortal’s sprawling estate near the edge of Saxon land. Jacob had not known, waking that morning, that by nightfall he would be alone, on the road, with only a horse and his sword.

After rising, he moved through the exercises Gracvius had taught him, their aim to keep his muscles strong and loose. He wore only a simple pair of linen pants. A cold air blew from the northern sea, keeping his bare skin cool as he exerted himself. With the sun still hanging close to the horizon on the spring morning, he left the hut Gracvius allowed him and ran to the small, icy lake on the other side of the fields.

The servants and hands that worked the large fields payed him no mind. In his early days at the estate he would try to great them, to know them, but their indifference and a harsh lecture from Gracvius on the futility of mortal camaraderie had put an end to that. After many long months, they were to him just another part of the landscape, dotting the rolling green hills, bent over their work at all hours of the day.

When he reached the lake he dove headfirst into the chilly water, his pale skin contracting in the cold. His brown, greasy hair hung limply along the sides of his pointed face. This was the only time of day he found real joy and his plump lips stretched thin as they pulled up in a foolish smile.

He swam across the lake and dove deep into the water, acclimating to the cold. When his breath became labored from his exertions he climbed out, dirt and grass sticking to his wet limbs. Though tired and breathing heavily, he ran back across the fields, to the main villa, where one of Gracvius’ servants would have a breakfast ready for him.

On that last day he never made it to his breakfast. Gracvius was waiting for him outside the house, his long body leaning against the doorframe at the front of the villa. The huge stone building blocked the still rising sun, leaving the courtyard in cool shadows. Water dripped from Jacob’s hair, and he shivered as it splashed against his neck and back. Two Roman swords rested against the wall just to the left of the doorway. Jacob slowed to walking and wiped his hands on his pants, smearing away the dirt and grass that still clung to him.

He stopped, nodding respectfully to his teacher. A drop of water ran down the tip of his long nose. He wiped it away and spoke.

“Are were sparring before we eat?”

“No.” The answer stood alone for a moment as Gracvius walked from the door and looked to the two swords resting against the wall. “You are done sparing with immortals. Today you will fight me, a true fight. If you can kill me, you will win my quickening.”

Gracvius’s flat, commanding voice was almost impossible to question, but Jacob did not even think to do so. This day was always looming in Jacob’s mind, when he would have to face his mentor as an enemy. He shook water from his hair and reached for the sword he’d spent the last six months mastering.

“It is custom to formally introduce yourself, so you may know who you face.”

Jacob already knew this from Gravcius’ instruction, but nodded anyway, “Jacob Kalin.”

“Marcus Ludivi Gracvius,” his teacher responded, bowing his head.

They had sparred hundreds of times, often spending whole days doing nothing but clashing blades, but Jacob felt instantly how this was different. Gracvius had always been guiding him, showing him his own weaknesses and where he was not pressing his advantage. Each time he was struck it was a lesson, not an attack. But now there was nothing to learn, nothing to teach, Gracvius struck at him, intent on winning.

Jacob was already exhausted from the run and the swim and realized suddenly that Gracvius had picked this time for that purpose, making true his warning that a duel could happen at any moment. He ignored the protests from his limbs, giving his mind over to his training.

Their swords rang against each other, echoing off the stone walls and filling the morning air like bird song. Jacob’s bare feet scraped against the gravel as Gracvius pushed him backwards.

The older man moved with practiced grace, his long limbs flowing like liquid. Though Jacob was still amazed at Gracvius’ skill, it was not mysterious to him as it once had been. For months he’d made swordplay his life. Though shorter, Jacob was stronger and just as quick. He held his own, even as Gracvius dominated the offensive.

There was one moment, as Jacob brought his sword up, when he saw a clear path to a killing blow. His mind predicted the move and he could picture the blade passing through the older man’s neck, his blood spilling out over the gravel. Jacob pictured the light going out of his teacher’s blue-grey eyes and his hand jerked, swinging his sword widely through the air and well over Gracvius’ head. The moment was lost and Jacob could do nothing but try weakly to block the coming attacks.

Gracvius struck hard, over and over, slamming into Jacob’s block, driving him to his knees. Then Gracvius’ sword was in the air, flying down at Jacob’s neck. He closed his eyes and inhaled, waiting for the end.

When nothing happen he opened his eyes, his heart thumping against his breastbone.

“There was a moment, you could have won.” Gravcius was above him, his sword at Jacob’s neck.

He did not feel the blade, only water that still ran down from his hair. He swallowed hard, knowing Gracvius would not like what he was about to say.

“I did not want to kill you.” The words came out in labored breaths and he avoided the harsh eyes that bore down at him.

“And because of that, you lost. This,” Gracvius gestured around to the villa, “could have been yours had you won. You would have had your first quickening, and land and wealth to support you. Instead, you are dead.”

Jacob looked up into his teacher’s eyes. “You would really take my head?”

He’d wanted to ask the questions a thousand times, each time they fought together, or ate together. He could not truly imagine the old man wanting him dead, not after so long a time together.

“I will take your head,” Gracvius slid the blade along Jacob’s neck, cutting him shallowly just above the shoulder, “if you have not improved when next I see you. But you are ready for the Game, so I have nothing more to teach you.”

He pulled his sword away and turned his back to Jacob. For a single moment Jacob considered jumping him, cutting him down, but the thought turned his stomach. He leaned on his sword pushing himself to standing.

“So I am done here?”

Gracvius did not turn around, “You have until noon to be off my land, or our next fight will be today.” He walked into the house without another word, vanishing into shadows.

Jacob acted quickly, running to his hut, breathing heavily. He put his few clothes in a bag and took the sheath Gracvius had given him for his sword. He did not notice the blood on his neck until after he’d pulled a shirt over his head, staining the yellow fabric.

At the stables he picked out his favorite horse, a young mare with golden hair and a tan coat. He was on the road away from the estate before the sun was halfway up the sky.

Once clear of Gracvius’ properties he stopped the horse, looking back over the green fields, seeing sunlight reflecting off the distant lake.

It was a sight he often returned to in his mind. Though he had spent a relatively short time there, and though he had never truly be made to feel welcome, when he pictured the round fields and stonework villa, he felt like he was looking at his home.

It was while he dreamed of that, of returning, of sitting again around the huge hearth, of eating off the polished metal plates, that he slipped from the camel, snapping awake.

Confusion overwhelmed him, leaving him unable to do anything but hang limply. After a moment the camel’s head and back came into focus and he remembered where he was, then he was confused again, unsure what was still holding him up.

An arm and hand pressed against his back, another hand gripped his arm. He pushed against them and reached for the saddle, pulling himself back to sitting.

“This has really gone too far.” Qhei’s voice was beside him, strained some from effort.

He spun, realizing it was she that had stopped him from falling to the ground. Her camel was directly next to his, her leg bumping into his camel’s dark hide. Jacob pulled his shoulders in, withdrawing away from her.

He spent a moment righting himself, checking that his sword still hung at his side, and straightening his scarf and jacket.

“If you don’t have a true night’s sleep you are going to fall off that thing and break your neck.” She said, her pale lips pulled into a flat, unamused line. A few strands of her dark hair hung out of her head cover.

Hot flush ran into Jacob’s cheeks, and he was thankful his scarf was pulled over most of his face. He knew that the other immortals must be aware how little he slept, but he had not realized how exhausted he truly looked. To be confronted about it made him feel like a great weakness had been exposed.

“I am fine.” His words were a harsh whisper, muffled some by the scarf. “An immortal can survive a few nights missed sleep.” He turned to her, looking into her brown eyes, “They can even survive a broken neck.”

“Yes, well that’s the problem isn’t it. If you were just some fool mortal I wouldn’t care, but if these people see you die and come back,” she gestured her head to the other riders, most slumped over their camels, watching the road ahead, “that would be bad, and not just for you.”

He did not answer, rubbing at his eyes and looking to the sky to judge the time of day. The sun was well past its apex and on its way to setting. He did not know when he’d fallen asleep or how long he dozed on the camel, but he felt somewhat better, his eyelids no longer aching simply from being held open.

Qhei did not ride away, but leaned over, patting his camel on the head. The animal twisted its neck around, something that still unsettled Jacob, and barked at her. She smiled at in return and stroked it under the chin. Jacob pulled the reins to the left, away from Qhei. The animal stubbornly complied, but Qhei moved her own mount to match him.

“How old are you?” She looked to Jacob’s face, her eyes darting as they studied the few features left exposed.

His first instinct was to lie, to hide his youth, keenly aware that most immortals he encountered would be centuries older than he. After a moment of thought he realized there would be no harm to telling her the truth, after all, he had brought down nearly a dozen immortals in his short years.

“Fifty-seven,” he said.

Her pale lips curled slightly as she tried to suppress a grin, and her eyes softened.  He knew instantly that he’d made the right choice, she was looking at him like she would a child. If that caused her to underestimate his skill, it would be a good advantage when they finally fought.

“And you?” He asked, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice.

“Now you make me feel like an old woman,” she smiled and squinted her eyes in thought, “In truth the specifics start to fade over time, but I’d reason that I’ve been alive for eighteen centuries.”

Jacob let out a long breath. He’d guessed that Gracvius was nearly that old, and the old man had told him that many immortals lived to a thousand years or more before losing their heads. Still, he was staggered at the thought of such a long life. He looked her up and down again, trying to imagine that her body had carried her through so many centuries.

When Jacob said nothing in response, Qhei kept talking, “Rotnati is nearly nine hundred. He spent the first few centuries of his life ignorant of the Game, or the existence of other immortals.”

“How could that be?” Jacob looked up to Rotnati, who was trying to engage the man next to him in conversation. They did not seem to share a language, but Rotnati still talked to the man, offering him a skin of something to drink.

“His village was in an isolated valley, one he never thought to leave. There was no real cause to leave, he had wives, friends, a place in the village.”

“They didn’t care that he never aged?”

She laughed lightly, “They thought he was some kind of great shaman, a sorcerer who controlled untold power.”

“For centuries?” His tone conveyed his clear disbelief, “They did not fear him?”

She shrugged, “Many did, but they also respected him. His kindness and charm are hard to resist. Other immortals in his place would have pushed it further, demanded to be worshiped as a god. I’ve met some who truly believe themselves to be gods, not knowing they are part of something larger.”

“The Game,” Jacob said.

Qhei scoffed, but said nothing.

They rode next to each other in silence for much of the afternoon as the sun slipped down the sky. The mountain range they’d been following through the journey grew closer, its black and brown stones close enough to make out details. Jacob noted that the guides cast those stones frequent looks, apparently still afraid of attack.

As darkness started to fall, guides rode up and down the line, telling everyone to prepare to make camp as soon as the sun was under the horizon. Jacob shifted impatiently, eager to be back on his feet.

“You will sleep tonight,” Qhei said. It did not sound like a command, but Jacob still resented her words.

“What I do is none of your concern.”

“If it exposes Rotnati or me, then it is my concern.”

He pulled the scarf from his face and turned to her, anger tinging his words, “I would ride away now, vanish into that desert before I trust either of you. I can survive out there without water, I will find a settlement eventually.”

“You would suffer that before you trusted that we have no interest in your head.” She looked at him with pity, and spoke in a soft, kind voice, which only increased his anger.

“Death out there,” he pointed to the distant dunes, “would only be temporary. But a blade would make death permanent.”

“Because this life you live is so worth preserving.” Not waiting for him to respond she kicked at her camel and rode ahead, slowing when she reached Rotnati.

Jacob waited for her to turn, for her to look at him again with patronizing pity, but she did not. All of Jacob’s fatigue was burned away by the rage that seethed in him. As the line of riders came to a halt he considered challenging her, demanding that they walk out into the desert away from the eyes of the camp and fight as immortals should, but as he stepped off the camel he knew that would be a mistake. His legs nearly buckled under him and he leaned against the sitting animal for support.

He did need sleep, or he would not be able to meet an attack should it come.

“Kalin!” He jerked his head at the call, finding Rotnati waving at him.

Jacob pulled his lips into an angry sneer and considered ignoring the man, but Rotnati called again, cupping his hands around his mouth so the sound would carry farther.

A few heads turned, watching the exchange with mild interest. In small bands like this there was little to do but gossip, and Jacob wondered what gossip was spread about him and the other immortals.

His hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, Jacob walked to where Rotnati and Qhei stood next to their camels. When he was close, the big man looked Jacob up and down, surprise and concern evident in his expression.

“She was not wrong. I am surprised you survived the ride today.”

Jacob only stared at him, making no attempt to hide his disdain.

“Here, this sword is the only weapon I carry,” Rotnati unstrapped his blade from his belt and placed it gently into a sack that hung from the camel’s saddle, “It will be far from me tonight.”

He looked at Qhei, then raised one large black eyebrow. Finally she complied, pulling her wrap away and working at the complex straps that held the scabbard on. She put it in the same sack as Rotnati’s sword, then called over one of the guides, instructing him to take their camels away so they could be tended to.

When the camels were gone she rubbed at the spot where her scabbard had been.

“Do you expect me to do the same?” Jacob asked suspiciously.

Qhei’s look clearly said she wouldn’t mind that, but Rotnati shook his head.

“We would not ask that of you. We only wanted to prove that you can rest at night without fear.”

“There are a dozen more swords in the camp, and knives. You could plunge a dagger in my heart, then drag me out into the sands,” he waved his hand toward the dunes, “and do the act there.”

Rotnati looked disappointed, “We are not such animals. We are not murders.”

“And I am to trust your word?” Jacob glared up at the man.

“Then walk out into the desert,” Qhei’s arms were crossed and she looked irritated, “leave us and find your own way. We will not follow, only don’t take the camel with you, it would be a great offence to our guides, and I’d hate to think of the poor animal dying because of your foolishness.”

“He will not go into the desert, there is no need for that. We should have handled this differently from the start.” Rotnati held a hand out to place on Jacob’s shoulder, but the shorter man jerked away.

Rotnati held his hands up, palms out, “Please, sit with us tonight, learn a few things about us, maybe we learn about you.” He gestured over to where a guide was starting a fire.

Jacob looked between the two immortals, his legs aching and his head starting to pound. He needed water, and to sit down. After a few seconds of labored thought he realized his weary mind did not care if they were telling the truth. He would drink, rest, then decide what to do.

He said nothing, but nodded his head, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Good,” Qhei sighed and reached out for him, wrapping her arm around his.

He wanted to pull away, but did not. He watched her and moved stiffly as she guided him to a place by the fire. The light pressure of her hand on his arm dominated his thoughts. He pictured a sword in that hand, and the heads she must have taken with it.

Already the heat of the day was bleeding away and many people were gathered close to the still small fire. Rotnati spread a large, patchy blanket on the ground and Qhei pulled Jacob down to sit. Across the flames Al-Muizz watched Jacob, his eyes darting to where Qhei still gripped him, then up to Jacob’s face, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

When she let go he pulled his arm back, then draped it over his knee. She moved her hand down to where her scabbard had been, rubbing the fabric and breathing deeply.

Rotnati tried to make conversation as food and water were passed around the fire.

“I came to visit my old friend,” he bumped a fist into Qhei’s shoulder, “but it seems I picked a bad time.”

“It’s always a bad time to be here,” she said, “if that damn sea didn’t generate so much wealth I would have left long ago.” She bit into flatbread as she spoke.

“Well I hope it was worth it, you almost died back there.”

She laughed, “It wasn’t nearly that dire, and now I have enough profit to live comfortably for a century or two.”

“I hope there is some comfort left over for your friends,” he laughed deeply and took a drink from a skin, red wine splashing when he pulled it from his face.

Jacob watched the skin as Rotnati placed it by his side. Wine, or any kind of liquor, had been almost impossible to find in the city, it seemed there were religious bans on its production or consumption.

Rotnati noticed his gaze and offered Jacob the skin, “Take some, and tell us, why did you come to this land where the sun dries everything away and rain is only a myth?”

Jacob took a long drink from the skin before he talked, feeling his cheeks flush as he swallowed the strong wine.

“There were only three boats taking passengers, and the one coming here had the most amiable captain.”

“Where were you before this?”

He took another drink and handed the skin back, “Aquitaine. It was very chaotic, I heard that things were more civilized on this side of the Mediterranean, but...” he trailed off.

“Things are rarely civilized anymore,” Qhei said, “but they will be again. If you really want civility all you have to do is wait long enough, or walk far enough.”

“Time and distance often seem to be one and the same,” Rotnati reflected.

The wine and fire worked in equal parts to make Jacob feel overheated. He listened absently to Qhei and Rotnati as he pulled the scarf from his head and pressed down his messy hair. Air blew across his neck and a comforting chill ran through him. His beard had grown in enough to keep the breeze from touching his face. He rubbed at it and pondered when he would next shave.

All conversation besides the banter between Qhei and Rotnati blended together into a low rumble that sounded to Jacob like a fast moving river. He closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“I would offer to spar with you,” Qhei’s sudden voice at his ear caused him to spin; her long oval face was inches from his, “but even if you accepted, I don’t think you’d be able to stand through a whole fight.”

“Would you fight him without your sword?” Rotanti asked, before Jacob could coax a reply from his sluggish mind.

Qhei furrowed her brow, then remembered, her hand darting to her leg, “That is an unsettling feeling,” she said as she rubbed the crumpled fabric.

“So you do understand the importance of the Game,” Jacob said, “or you would not be so attached to your blade.”

“I know to be always ready to defend myself, that is all.” The emphasis she put on the last words reminded Jacob somehow of Gracvious’ lectures.

Qhei brushed a hand across her lips, wiping away breadcrumbs. Her fingers were long and tapered, the nails rough and uneven. Jacob followed them with his eyes until they came to rest on her leg.

Two young boys stood and started circling the fire, clapping their hands and trying to elicit a song from the crowd. Jacob let himself slip down onto one elbow as voices rang out around him. He heard the others around the second fire also joining in.

Rotnati did not seem to know the words, but stamped and clapped to the beat. Qhei moved her lips quietly along with the words, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Jacob looked up, watching her, strands of her dark hair dancing in the breeze, her brown eyes reflecting firelight. He tried to imagine a thousand nights like this, two thousand, or ten. Nothing came to him but his own recollections of sitting alone around his small fire, a sleeping horse his only companion.

He closed his eyes and pictured the place he called home, trying to bring Gracvious into his daydream. How would the old man act were he in Jacob’s place? Would he sit around the fire, breaking bread with another immortal. Jacob had no time to think of an answer, his mind got lost remembering the icy lake and green hills, and sleep swept over him, banishing all other thoughts from his mind.

When he woke his eyes shot open and he sat up. The fire was low, still giving off heat, but not casting much light. All around people lay recumbent, the air full of soft breathing.

Jacob looked down to his side where Qhei lay, her hands pillowed under her head. The soft curve of her neck was exposed, a few black hairs resting across it. A queasy feeling churned in his stomach, and he remembered his last glimpse of Gracvuis, the old man’s back to him as Jacob considered attacking.

He wanted to stand, to be at the edges of the camp, away from the other immortals were he could collect his thoughts, but there was no clear path out that didn’t risk waking half the camp. Instead he lay down on his back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Starlight smeared across the sky, and he tried to lose his thoughts in the sight, but his mind keep returning to the immortals, unconscious so close to him, and the twitch in his hand that made him want to grab his sword. The struggle to control his thoughts felt like it went on for hours, but he could not be sure as the whole night faded into a blur of images - a blue cluster of stars, Qhei’s greasy black hair, the orange glow of the fire.

The next time he was truly aware, people were moving all around him and he heard camels grunting. He pushed himself up onto his elbows while pre-dawn light bled over the horizon. People gathered their things for the day’s ride. Qhei was still asleep next to him, and Rotnati stood over her.

“You look much better. Glad to see it. I thought for a moment I’d have to wake both of you.” He nudged Qhei with his foot and her eyes opened.

Confusion dominated her face when she saw Jacob, then it was replaced with understanding and she sat up.

“You survived the night.” She grinned sardonically at him.

He said nothing, standing up and wiping sand from his clothes. His head felt better than it had in days. The dull ache behind his eyes had become so familiar that its absences took him by surprise. The muscles in his arms and legs felt more responsive and he had the urge to run through his practice stances, but he knew there would be no time before the caravan set out.

“We will reach the oasis today.” Qhei said as she stood, stretching her arms above her head, “I should like to take a bath.”

“Will they allow such a thing?” Rotnati asked, “They seem to barely tolerate you exposing your face.”

The whispers and glances had mostly subsided after long days on the road, but Jacob noticed that most of the guides seemed to pretend that Qhei did not exist.

Qhei dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand, “I’ll put up a barricade, it’s done all the time. I’m sure Shu’a would enjoy a bath as well.” She gestured to Al-Muizz’s niece, who was already climbing onto her camel.

Jacob wanted to distance himself from the two of them, but was not eager to get back on a camel. He looked out to where the mountain range tapered off in the distance.

“How much farther until we reach civilization?” He asked.

“The oasis is almost exactly half way. We have another four days.” Qhei answered.

He nodded, feeling relieved to know the end of this journey was so close. When they reached another city he could re-issue his challenge, he could fight one of them, maybe both of them, and finally be back to the Game.

 


	4. Chapter Four

The edge of the horizon shimmered, reflecting sunlight in strange and ever changing ways. It would seem, for a moment, like an army of riders had just galloped into view. Jacob looked to the guides for their reaction, but they paid the shifting forms no mind. As his camel trotted further the shape of riders vanished, replaced with a cluster of scraggly bushes.

This pattern repeated itself over and over throughout the day as Jacob scanned the horizon for the oasis. More than once he saw what he was sure were palm trees and the glimmer of water, but those faded like the phantom riders, leaving barren sand in their place.

He was thankful that neither Qhei or Rotnati seemed interested in his company now that the caravan was underway. He’d ridden far from them as soon as he finished a small breakfast, and they’d made no attempt to follow.

He did note that they both carried their weapons again, but did not begrudge them that; even one night without his sword was more than he would have tolerated.

Qhei spent most of the day riding with Shu’a, Al-Muizz’s niece. The heavy veil the other woman wore made it hard to see how much she contributed, but Qhei seemed actively engaged in an exchange.

Rotnati rode with some of the younger guides, sharing musical lyrics and rhythms which they beat out against their saddles.

The heat did not feel as oppressive as it had on previous days. Jacob attributed his own improved mood to a night’s rest, but it seemed everyone felt the same. He wondered if the whole trip had been so lively and he simply had not noticed in his haze of exhaustion. Or maybe everyone was optimistic about visiting the oasis today.

After stopping at noon, eating, praying, and enjoying a quick break, they remounted and Al-Muizz fell in beside Jacob.

The man’s grey speckled beard was more neatly trimmed than when Jacob had seen it last. He must have found time one morning or night to tend to it. It drew Jacob’s attention to his own beard; though it no longer itched, the weight of it on his face was a constant discomfort in the heat. He did not understand why Al-Muizz, and in fact all the older local men, seemed to wear one.

“Al-Muizz,” he said, “why have a beard?” He gestured first to to his own jaw, then to Al-Muizz’s, “Why not shave and have a bare face?” He pantomimed running a razor across his cheek.

Al-Muizz nodded, “It is commanded by Prophet Muhammad,” he spoke the words of reverence that seemed to be mandatory when Muslims spoke their Prophet's name, and directed a hand up to the sky.

Jacob nodded. He knew their faith had restrictions and edicts, some very different than the faith he’d been raised to follow. Once, after just arriving off the boat, he’d been harshly scolded by a fruit merchant for trying to pet a stray dog. From what he understood, dogs were seen as unclean and unfit for such affection.

As they rode, Al-Muizz cast disapproving looks toward Qhei and his niece.

“She is not un-pure,” Jacob picked words he knew Al-Muizz understood, “not spoiled. She is only different, with different custom. She will not corrupt your niece.”

He was not sure how true any of that was - he knew nothing of Qhei, nothing of her habits or character, but he wanted to speak words of comfort to Al-Muizz.

Al-Muizz scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at both women, “Shu’a does not follow commands. Holds secrets. Better when she was small,  I could...” he searched for the word, then mimicked swatting at a figure resting on his knee.

Jacob laughed.

“How old is she,” he asked.

“Sixteen, Allah protect me.” Al-Muizz said, exasperated.

“I had a younger sister,” Jacob said, “she drove me mad at that age. All she talked about were boys, and how much she hated me.”

Al-Muizz didn’t seem to understand all of that, but still nodded with genuine sympathy.  

Jacob had not thought about Ruth, or about any of his siblings, in a long time. It was possible some of them were still alive, surely they’d had children of their own by now. He could very well have a niece, one very close to Shu’a’s age.

He tried to banish those thoughts, cover them up with Gracvius’ lectures about mortals, about how they were never really his family, just people who raised him by chance.

He had never felt like he truly belonged with them. His dark eyes and hair was so unlike his brothers’ and sisters’ gold locks and hazel-blue eyes. He had been very young when his father confessed to him in a drunken stupor that they had found him abandoned in the fields outside their cottage.

He squelched that memory, replacing the image of his mortal father with that of Gracvius explaining to him his real purpose in life.

Al-Muizz had fallen silent, leaving Jacob to his thoughts.

High pitched laughter sounded out over the procession. Both men turned together to see its source. Qhei was nearly doubled over in her saddle and Shu’a had her hands cupped in front of her veil as if to hold back further fits of laughter.

Al-Muizz sighed deeply and shook his head.

Jacob wondered if he should talk with Qhei, explain their guide’s unease at her association with Shu’a. The thought of speaking to Qhei further about anything other than the Game left his gut feeling heavy.

Trying to take take the guide’s mind off the women, Jacob asked a question. “How far is the oasis?”

“We see it now,” he pointed out into the desert, but Jacob only saw the hazy line where sky met sand, “We stop early today, make bath, relax.”

Jacob imagined cool water running through his filthy hair and against his scalp, and wished they could ride faster.

It only took a few moments for the shapes of trees to resolve out of the haze at the horizon. Hoots and hollers, went up from guides and travelers. Men kicked at their camels and speed forward.

Al-Muizz called a few orders but kept riding at a steady pace next to Jacob.

Three standing pools of watered appeared, laid out in a long line, dividing the dry sand on either side. Between them was a growth of plants and trees; though not exactly what Jacob would call greenery, it was more lush than anything he’d thus far seen in the desert.

When they arrived some of the boys were already working at the ground with flat shovels. Where the dirt and sand were pulled away water seeped up, filing in the space. Camels gathered around it, taking slow, ponderous drinks.

Jacob had learned to command his camel to sit, but still required aid to climb out of the saddle. A guide helped him keep his balance as he stepped down.

The water looked from a distance to be a deep blue, but as he got closer he saw that was an illusion created by the reflected sky. The sandy bottom of the pool was visible through the clear water.

When he approached the bank his boots sunk into the ground, wetness sucking at his feet when he lifted them. He bent down and unstrapped the boots and slid first his left, then his right foot into the soft ground.  The very surface was hot and unwelcoming, but he bore his toes deeper and they were encased in cool, muddy sand. He wiggled his toes, closed his eyes, and lost himself in the moment of comfort.

Splashing and commotion drew his attention. He opened his eyes to see men wading fully clothed into the pool before him. Rotnati was among them; the dark man tore away his clothes and tossed them haphazardly toward the land.  Soon his whole top half was exposed, the large knotty muscles in his arms and back glistened with water in the sun.

A figure moved behind the pool, striding over the thin grass. Qhei walked quickly toward the most distant pool, tent poles and sheets draped in her arms. Shu’a followed with a comparatively small load of sheets and behind her two guides carried even more, hurrying to keep pace with the women.  

The poles were quickly erected and Qhei set to work hanging sheets to block off the area. Once they had finished helping her drive the poles into the ground, the two guides seemed reluctant to leave. They poked and prodded at the sheets, making as if to help, but doing more harm than good.

Abdu was one of them, easily recognized even at a distance because of his height. He seemed to dog Qhei, scratching at the back of his neck as he spoke to her. He could have been a buzzing fly for all the mind Qhei paid to him. He leaned one hand on a pole while trying to tell her something, and pushed it to the ground, pulling sheets into the muddy dirt.

“Abdu!” Al-Muizz’s stern call turned most heads as it echoed over the oasis.

The boy flushed a deep red and gave the woman a quick bow before darting away, his companion following on his heels.

The two women laughed and continued working. It was not a full tent, but more of a semi-circle that enclosed the ground just in front of the water. If a man wanted to see what the women did behind the barrier he would need only to walk far enough to peer around the edges. Jacob doubted that any man would try it, for fear of Al-Muizz’s wrath.

Before Shu’a had secured that last sheet, Jacob saw through the small gap to where Qhei was pulling off her blouse. He knew he should look away, but his eyes fixed on her regardless. The white linen fell to the ground exposing a thick layer of fabric wrapped tightly around her upper body. At first he was simply amazed that she had yet another layer of clothing on in such heat, but as she untucked one long strip of fabric from the top, the garment’s purpose became clear. She had bound her breasts tightly to her chest so they did not interfere with her movement, with her swordsmanship.

The last sheet fastened into place and Qhei was out of sight. A grin played at the edges of Jacob’s mouth. He took great satisfaction knowing that Qhei cared enough about the Game to keep herself ever ready for attack. He thought again of the coming fight, of when he could finally face her.

He had decided it would be Qhei he challenged at their journey's end. She had seemed the more skilled of the two in the practice bouts he’d witnessed, and he might have been safer challenging Rotnati, but whenever he pictured the coming battle, his enemy was always Qhei. He savored the idea of proving that his short life had already prepared him to fell an immortal as old as she.

“Kalen,” Rotnati’s deep voice called, “will you stand there all day with you feet in the mud, or join us?”

Jacob smiled reflexively at the man and pulled his feet out, feeling the ground suck at them as he did. He removed his jacket, shirt, and pants so he only wore small clothes, and folded everything neatly, placing it on top of his boots. Last he placed his sword flat on the ground next to the pile. It left him feeling more naked than removing his clothes had done, but he knew there was little risk while the whole caravan was awake and alert.

The water was tepid, but refreshing, and he waded in slowly so it crept up his legs, then his middle. He scooped up handfuls and splashed it on his face. His cracked lips stung as he sipped some slowly into his mouth. He dipped his head under the surface and stayed under long enough to run his fingers through his hair a few times, scraping dirt and dead skin from his scalp.

Propelling himself forward, he lifted his legs from the bottom, taking a few long strokes before standing again.

Men were passing a razor and a small piece of polished metal around, trimming at the edges of their beards. One man offered them to Jacob and he accepted gratefully, having left his in the pack still tied to his camel. He tried to keep his back to the men as he ran the sharp edge along his skin, his warped reflection staring back at him. It seemed unavoidable that he would nick himself each time he shaved, and he didn’t want anyone to see the small sparks that would seal the cuts.

When it was done he handed the razor and metal to another man and ran his hands along his smooth skin. Air blew across his wet face he felt a small, delightful, chill.

The normal business of making camp eventually began. Pits were dug for fires, but none were yet lit. The camels were corralled around the water holes and preparations began on a meal. The harsh light of day bleed from the sky more each moment as the sun set, and a few of the brightest stars appeared.

Some men had taken their sullied clothes to the water to wash, and he considered doing the same. He had other shirts, but only the one pair of pants, so when he left the water he put those back on, along with his sword belt, and took the shirt to the water to soak. Sand stuck to his wet feet, and instead of rinsing it off and putting his boots back on, he continued barefoot.

Men were on either side of him, working their clothes in the water, muttering to each other in Arabic. When their heads turned to the farthest pool, Jacob followed their gaze. One of the sheets pulled back and Shu’a emerged wearing her long wrap. Men went back to their duties, some noticeable disappointed that they hadn’t seen more.

Shu’a walked through the grass, stopping to pluck a white flower off a weedy looking bush, and crossed the camp to where her uncle sat, directing the first fire to be lit. She knelt down beside him and put her hands against his knees. He brushed a hand against the fabric of her veil, where her cheek might have been, and smiled at her.

All the disapproval and worry Jacob had seen in the man’s face earlier in the day was replaced with love and affection. Jacob smiled at the site and gathered his things from the bank of the pool, ready to sit at the fire and have a meal.

The sky at the edge of the horizon turned a soft orange as the sun dipped. Jacob watched out into the distance, considering the night ahead. He would set up his bedroll at the edge of camp again, and still keep his sword at the ready, but felt confident that he could sleep through the night without threat from the other immortals.

A dark red haze lifted up over the low-lying mountain ridge and covered the yellow orb of the sun. Jacob looked to see its source, squinting against the glaring light of sunset at the horizon. Against the backdrop of the mountains small black forms, which he’d taken at first to be stones, moved across the land, kicking up a huge cloud of dust.

He could not mistake this for a mirage, and all around people took notice of the riders. Orders were barked, men splashed in the water to reach the shore. Guides circled around the camels, pulling out short swords and daggers.

Al-Muizz mounted a camel, pulling his curved blade out, looking ready to charge the riders. Abdu pulled at the reins of the camel, trying to hold him back, yelling something wildly at him.

Jacob did not know camels could gallup so fast. In seconds the riders were almost on top of them. He drew his sword, hoping what he knew about attacking a horse-mounted rider would be of use against these attackers.

The lead rider crossed into the camp and swung his sword down at a guide, but the man had his own weapon up to block it. Though he suffered no injury, the guide was forced to the ground, where he scrambled for footing. A second rider drove past, leaning down and cutting the guide across the back. He cried out in pain.

In a moment the battle was too hectic to follow, Jacob could only think of his own sword and the men he faced. A man on camelback charged him. Jacob stood ready to block the blow, but at the last moment dodged to the side and crouched, thrusting his sword upward into the flanks of the animal. It sunk deep and the camel bucked, barking loudly. Jacob could not rend the sword free quickly enough and was spun off balance, falling to his knees.

The rider tried to bring the camel in line, to calm it, but the animal resisted his commands.  Jacob sprung to his feet and gripped the man’s leg, yanking hard, pulling him down. The camel’s reins were still tight in his hand and as he fell he pulled the animal’s head with him. It cried as it fell, its legs kicking wildly.

With the animal covering his legs, the man was emobile. Jacob wasted no time, slashing at his neck and turning to find another opponent while the camel wailed and thrashed in pain.

Across the camp he saw Al-Muizz charging through a cluster of men, sword flashing, and Rotnati clashing blades with a tall man whose face was completely hidden in a scarf. A shrill scream sounded from behind and Jacob turned, following the cry to the far edge of the second pool. A man on camel back struggled with a figure on the ground. In the fading light Jacob could make out the blues and yellows of the figure’s wrap - Shu’a.

Jacob turned and made for the rider, his sword in one hand as he ran, his bare feet kicking up sand.

The man held the cloth at the top of Shu’as head, his grip finding purchase in the hair just beneath. He leaned to the side, apparently trying to pull her up onto the camel with him. She clawed and slapped at his hands as he tried to find a grip at the front of her wrap. When he pulled his hand up it came away with only fabric and a bright glimmer of something metal, but she was still firmly on the ground.

In his struggle the man did not see Jacob closing. Jacob slid to a stop just beside the camel and slashed at the arm that held Shu’a. The attackers lost his grip and Shu’a shot to the ground with the force of her resistance. Before the man could understand what had happened Jacob thrust his sword up and struck him just above the breastbone. A rattled gasp and drops of blood escaped his lips before he slipped out of the saddle and to the ground.

Jacob kicked at the man, making sure he was still before he turned his back.

When he turned around he found another man gripping Shu’a with one arm, and pointing a sword at her waist with the other. Jacob did not need to hear the words he was screaming to know their meaning - Stay away or I will kill her.

Before Jacob could plan an attack, Shu’a jerked to the side, away from the sword, and upset the man’s grip. His arm slipped upwards and she lifted it to her mouth, biting down hard. Blood sprayed out and the man screamed.

While the man reeled in pain, Shu’a wiggled free and Jacob charged, plunging his sword in the man’s gut and pulling it across. All strength evaporated from the man and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Shu’a was sprawled, one leg under her, the other jutted to the side, trying to regain her footing. Jacob reached a hand to help her. Her veil was torn, frayed fabric framing her face. She had soft, round cheeks and big hazel eyes. Her skin was darker than he’d expected and she had huge white teeth, just like her uncle. Blood was smeared around her lips and he worried she’d been hit, then he recalled what she’d done to her attacker.

She reached for his hand but pulled back, her eyes wide in terror as she tried to point behind him.

He spun in time to turn away the curved blade. It rang against his sword with such force that the vibration that ran through his hands and up his arms left him feeling numb and dizzy for one panicked moment.

His attacker was little more than a boy, shorter than Jacob, and scrawny. He had a long crooked nose and a square jaw that looked over large on his young face. His eyes were afire with wild desperation.

Each blow came so quickly and with such fervor that it overwhelmed Jacob. He took quick steps backwards in an attempt to regain control, but his foot slipped on loosely packed sand and he lost his balance, missing a block. The boys sword bit deeply into his arm, rending flesh and muscle and for a moment Jacob could only see white spots.

Staggering, trying to reposition his sword firmly in his good hand, Jacob felt an uncomfortable pressure in his middle. He breathed heavily and his vision cleared to see the curved sword protruding from his belly. Hot, nauseating pressure spread out, numbing his middle.

The boy’s dark eyes watched him, but were clouded over with the haze of panic, looking even more afraid than he had before. He held the blade limply, his fingers barely touching the hilt.

Though far from his first mortal wound, Jacob was lost in the pain and horror of the injury, the horror that part of him had been opened up and was now exposed, spilling out. Pain radiated out, paralyzing muscles and limbs. A small, rational voice knew not to be afraid, but it was buried under animal instinct.

He stared ahead, trying to find the strength to act. The boy dropped the sword, his hands falling limply to his sides, then his head lolled forward, too far, slamming against his chest. Jacob saw blood, but it mingled with the red mist that crept over his vision. The world seemed darker and he remembered absently that the sun had been setting.

The boy fell forward into Jacob, knocking him backward. He could not lift his hands to stop his fall, he did not even know exactly where his hands were. There was no sensation of falling, and he did not feel the ground as he slammed into it.

Then he was aware of a face, looming above. Pale lips saying something. The only thing he heard was his own pulse in his ear, but he was aware of a release of pressure in his stomach, and he lifted his gaze to find Qhei’s warm brown eyes. He tried to form words, not sure what they would be, but the effort left him light headed and darkness swam over him, making Qhei and the world beyond her vanish.

\---

The need for air was a physical force that pushed his lungs open in single, painful slam. For a moment that was all he was, a pair of lungs trying desperately to suck in air.

Each death felt like his first and he recalled falling, reaching desperately for a hand hold as his fingers bounced uselessly off rocks and grass slipped his grasp. But this pain was wrong. When he’d fallen then, while poaching deer with his brother, the pain had been in his neck and back, but now it was his stomach that hurt, like something was burrowing in it.

He pulled himself to sitting, opening his eyes, then blinked trying to adjust to the low light.

Hands pressed gently into his shoulders, trying to push him back down to the ground. He gripped tightly to one hand and turned to meet Shu’a’s gaze. With so little light her eyes looked shadowy blue and they were wide in amazement. They darted to his middle. He touched where the sword had pierced him and found a haphazard bandage covered in blood.

“Is the fighting done?” he asked in Greek.

She nodded, looking back to his eyes, “All dead or ran,’ she answered.

Shu’a took a deep breath and shook her head, as if dismissing a thought, then pushed at his shoulders again, harder this time, speaking calmly in Arabic. Blood still clung to her face, but was smeared as if she’d wiped at it. Despite her clear, smooth voice, he could not follow the words, his mind still foggy. He pulled at her hand, lifting it from his shoulder, about to explain that he was not hurt.

There was a rustling and hurried footsteps and Qhei was next to him, one knee bent into the sand. She spoke quickly to Shu’a. Jacob heard Al-Muizz’s name and tried to look around to see the rest of their party. A fire licked to life in the distance, he guessed in one of the pits that had already been dug. Dark shapes moved in front of it. He could see nothing more.

Shu’a stood, gathering her wrap in her hand and ran toward the fire.

“The battle is over,” Qhei rested her hand against Jacob’s chest, “but there were injuries.”

He tried to stand but she pushed him back with unexpected force, her eyes boring into his.

“Shu’a was not the only one who saw you stabbed. They thought you’d die from it. I’ve convinced them it was not as grievous as it looked, but you need to stay down. They will be suspicious if you seem well.”

He wanted to object, to tell her it was more important that he help, but his mind was clearing and he knew that might not be the case. If they learned he was immortal they might think him the source of the curse on the city, that his presence in the caravan had doomed them, had brought the riders on them. He had experienced the consequences of such superstition before.

He relaxed back onto one arm, “You said something about Al-Muizz, is he hurt?”

She nodded, “His leg, cut deep, to the bone. But the bleeding is minimal, he has a good chance.”

Jacob wanted to stand, to go check on the man, but stayed still.

“I have to do something besides lie here.”

“You killed two of them, that’s more than enough. Unless you can bind wounds, just stay low and don’t draw attention.”

He remembered the boy who’d stabbed him, “He fell,” he looked around for the body, seeing it a few paces away, its head attached to the body at an unnatural angle, then he looked to Qhei, “you killed him?”

She nodded then took her hand from his chest, “I do know how to bind wounds, I need to go.”

“Of course.”

She was gone before she could hear his words. The last of the pain had vanished and he felt strong, ready. He had to fight his twitching muscles to keep still on the ground. His eyes were adjusting to the dark and he could see guides rounding up camels and men running back and forth. He longed to join them, but knew he could not.

One walked to the camel Jacob had downed, which was back on its feet, but limping heavily from the wound. The guide gently talked the animal down into sitting, then quickly slid a blade in its neck. The animal struggled wildly for only a moment before collapsing to the sand.

Jacob turned from the site, suddenly struck with the thought that he was without his sword. He shot up straight and searched around him, seeing it in the sand to his right. He sighed in relief and pulled himself toward it. When it was in reach he wrapped his hand around the hilt and felt comforted. Blood stained the blade and he wiped it on his pant leg.

He felt a chill only after realizing he still wore no shirt. He tried to find the spot in the darkness where he’d dropped his clothes and boots, but gave up after a few seconds of useless scanning.

A glint of reflected starlight drew his attention to something partially covered in sand, just to his left. He dug his fingers in the sand, lifting out a long, heavy chain of gold or brass. Beaten circles of metal hung from the chain. He guessed it was Shu’a’s, pulled from her neck in the struggled.

He shifted it to his other hand and studied the circle that hung in the middle of the chain, much larger than the others, and uniform rather than beaten. One side was blank, reflecting light, and smooth to the touch, the other had a raised image of mountains with a valley between them, or possibly of a bird, its wings arched in flight.

He tucked it into the pouch that was sown to his pants and rested back down on his elbows. Soon a huge figure approached, nearly on top of Jacob before he recognized it at Rotnati.

The tall man looked around, checking that they were not watched, “Stand, then lean on me, I’ll take you back to the fire.”

He reached a hand down but Jacob did not accept it, pushing himself to standing. He put his sword in its sheath and took a few steps until he was next to Rotnati.

“You will need to look a little weaker than that.” Jacob could not see Rotnati’s expression clearly in the dark, but go the impression of wide eyes and a patronizing grin.

“Yes, Qhei’s explained it all to me. I don’t want to be at the fireside, just take me in a little closer and bring me a bedroll or something to sleep on.”

“It will not do. Al-Muizz asked that all the injured be closest to the fire so they do not get chilled in the night.”

Jacob took a breath, ready to protest that he was not injured and that this was all a waste of time, but he knew it would do no good. The breath came out of him in a huge gust as he reluctantly wrapped an arm around Rotnati and leaned his weight into the man. Rotnati stretched his arm across Jacob’s back and under his armpit. Jacob recalled the pressure and pain from the stabbing as his bent himself over, trying to look injured.

His feet struck objects in the sand as they made a slow pace to the fire. When he looked down he saw clothing, water skins, knives and other various debris. It would be impossible to find it all in the dark, even if everyone in the camp were not already busy tending to the wounded and rounding up the camels. They would have to stay at least part of the next day before they would be ready to head out again.

A bedroll was laid out for him by the fire and Rotnati stopped over it, bending down with Jacob so he could lower himself slowly on the roll. What worry Jacob had that people would stare or gawk at him was dismissed when he saw that most attention was on a cluster of figures on the other side of the fire. He asked Rotnati what was happening.

“Al-Muizz, Qhei is trying to close the wound.”

“She is a doctor?” What little experience Jacob had with doctors had made them seem next to useless, but Qhei did not seem the type to rub muddy herbs in a cut or try to cast out demons.

“At times, though it took some convincing to let them trust a woman to look at the cut. If things do not fare well, I hope they do not blame her.”

Instead of leaving, Rotnati crouched next to Jacob, his eyes also following the people on the other side of the fire.

“How many others were hurt?” Jacob asked.

“Two men were killed quickly, another has a wound in his chest that will not heal,” he turned and pointed across the camp to where two figures crouched around a prone man, “he was a Gaul, fleeing the city like we were. As for the wounded, most of the guides were struck defending the camels, but Al-Muizz has the worst of it. If a creeping rot does not set in, most of them should recover.”

“That’s why they attacked, to take the camels?”

“And any supplies we had.” Rotnati turned his head back to the fire, “And the women.”

Qhei’s voice sounded out from the crowd, barking an order Jacob did not understand. One figure broke free of the cluster and hurried to the fire, taking a small metal cup off the cooking rack. Jacob wondered what was inside.

As if he knew what Jacob thought, Rotnati spoke, “Poppy extract. She does not always have it with her, Al-Muizz is lucky.”

The two men watched for a long time. Jacob was not sure why Rontanti stayed by his side, maybe to guard that no one tried to tend to Jacob’s false wound.

Even with the unease still creeping through his muscles, and the deep desire he had to stand and help set the camp straight, exhaustion swam through Jacob’s mind. One night’s sleep had not made up for all the nights of wakefulness, and though his immortal body had healed a wound that no man should survive, he still needed to regain the energy he had spent.

Forgetting that another immortal crouched an arm’s reach from him, Jacob closed his eyes and sank into sleep.


	5. Chapter Five

The journey from the oasis to the inland city should have taken four days, but six days after the attack the city was still not in sight.

The first day saw almost no progress. Guides spent the morning recovering the goods scattered around the campsite and building litters for the seriously injured. Jacob was spared the embarrassment of riding in a litter, but was still unable to help with any of the clean up or preparations. He lay on his side watching the guides and the other travelers scurry around the oasis, his body and mind tense.

When Shu’a hurried past him he waved to her, asking that she stop. She seemed hesitant and he wondered if she had doubts about how he’d survived his injuries. But after a moment she crouched next to him and asked in broken Greek what he needed.

“I found this last night,” he pulled the necklace out of his pocket, “I thought it might be yours.”

Her eyes bulged wide and she snatched it from him. Without inspecting it she stuffed it into the folds of her wrap. The small part of her face he could see reddened with flush that turned her skin a dark pink. She said a few hurried words of thanks as she stood and walked quickly away.

Soon the bodies were dragged away, far from the oasis. Even the raiders were treated with respect and placed in deep graves.

When it came time to leave Jacob had great difficulty mounting the camel while feigning injury. The memory of the blade in his middle was almost completely faded, and with it the awareness of just what it would feel like to be hurt.

Hoping the guide did not think his movements to spry or agile, he slumped in the saddle. He avoided looking around at the men who were in genuine pain, their suffering a reminder of just how different he was.

The progress that day was slow as adjustments were made to litters and saddles. Qhei spent the whole journey moving between the injured men, assessing their needs and wellbeing.

As the sun set and preparations began for a campsite, Jacob wondered if the small dots behind them on the horizon might not be the oasis, still in view.

Rotnati helped Jacob down from his horse instead of a guide, and Jacob was genuinely glad to take the man’s hand and not have to pretend his middle still hurt.

“We will need to make better time tomorrow,” Rotnati reflected.

Jacob nodded, but said nothing.

“The water will last for two, maybe three days extra, but no more.”

“Those who are hurt will need more water,” Jacob said.

“And some of us could live on less.”

Rotnati placed a hand gently on Jacob’s shoulder, then walked away toward the closest campfire.

Guides and travelers moved about the familiar tasks of the night with a sullen mood. Each groan of pain or moan from an injured man drew quick, worried glances.

Jacob stayed away from the crowd, sprawling out on his bedroll, doing his best to go unnoticed. Even when hunger rippled through his belly, he did not stir. Besides the bother of going near to the fire, he did not want to take food that might otherwise go to someone who truly needed it.

As the sky dimmed and the camp settled, he closed his eyes, thirst and hunger wearing on him. He had not noticed he was dozing when the sound of nearby footsteps snapped him awake. He stiffened, his hand around his sword before his eyes opened.

“I need to look at you.” Qhei was crouched in front of him, her hand already reaching for the bandage under his shirt.

He pulled back, stopping her hand in the air.

She looked up into his eyes, “It will seem odd if I treat every wound in camp but yours. Just sit still for a minute then I’ll leave you alone.”

Small dark patches had formed under her eyes and her expression was heavier, worn.

He leaned back, putting one hand against the bedroll, but keeping the other on his sword. “Be quick.”

She lifted his shirt and ran her fingers under the bandage. The muscles in his abdomen contracted and a shiver ran through him. Her dark hair hung down, hiding her face as she leaned over the non-existent wound.

He watched her for a few moments, then turned away, glancing around the camp.

“Are you almost done.”

“Just a moment.” She undid the tie in the bandage, then redid it, making it tighter and more secure. “That should be convincing enough.”

“Good.”

She sat up, brushing her hair back, and looked at him quizzically.

“What?” he asked.

“You shaved,” she lifted her hand and ran it across his jaw before he could flinch away, “You look much better.”

His neck was tense and he was taken aback, unsure what to do. Part of his mind could only think about how close her hand had been to his neck, but another part focused on the lingering feeling of her skin against his.

She smiled at him and rose to her feet, “Get some rest, we will try to break camp early and make good progress tomorrow.” She walked back to one of the fires.

He ran his hand along his jaw, his gut clenched in anxiety and confusion.

The tension in his middle did not subside as the sky darkened and the stars appeared. The camp settled for the night, but Qhei continued to move between prone forms. Jacob's stomach grumbled and he closed his eyes, imagining the creamy spiced dip he knew was being served.

A muffled cry pulled him out of sleep sometime much later in the night. His hand had slipped from his sword and his neck was badly cramped from his posture.

Searching for the source of the cry he twisted his neck slowly around, working out the kinks. A small group huddled around the fire, all standing over a figure. There was another cry, weaker this time, pain and fear echoing clearly over the campsite.

Jacob turned away, repositioning on his bedroll and closing his eyes.

A grave had already been dug before Jacob woke the next morning. Guides had wrapped the Gaul’s body in cloth and placed him in the ground. The grave was filled before most of the travelers finished their morning meal.

Jacob finally gave into thirst and took small sips of water. He also had a few bites of food, just enough to give his stomach something to work over.

The journey was only slightly better than the day before. They had to stop suddenly when Al-Muizz cried out in pain and almost fell from his litter, clutching at his leg. He tried to wave off aid, protesting loudly when he saw the line of riders stopped for his sake.

In the end he consented and allowed Qhei to look at his leg. As she worked, and gave him more poppy extract, Jacob saw that she was even more worn than she had been the night before. She was short with Al-Muizz and the guides, giving orders and not allowing disagreement.

After that they made good time, not as good as their pace before the attack, but good enough that Jacob was no longer worried they would exhaust their water before reaching the city. Still Jacob had drank little through the day, and was slightly dizzy from dehydration.

Rotnati road close to Jacob, talking enthusiastically despite Jacob's apparent disinterest.

"Of course she has the most experience in womanly things, though most would not say pulling babies out of women is medicine, Qhei still treats it the same."

Jacob's face was a blank mask as he watched ahead, but in truth he was fascinated with all Rotnati said. Jacob wanted to speak, to ask questions and share some of his own experiences but his words did not leave his mind. He held one arm against his waist, still pretending it hurt, and rarely looked over to the other man.

"It was a stubborn grandchild still the wrong way around inside my daughter that started the friendship between us," Jacob looked to where Qhei road, hunched slightly in her saddle, "of course had I been in my home there would have been half a dozen women to help deliver the child, but I was in some rainy village north of Greece. We were lucky Qhei was there, mother and child might have died without her."

"Your daughter?" Jacob's curiosity outweighed his trepidation about socializing with an immortal, "immortals can't have children."

"Not born or seeded from our loins, no, but when you raise a child from an infant to a grown woman she is your daughter, regardless."

"Why would you do that?" Jacob finally turned to look at him.

Rotanti met his gaze, holding it for a long moment, seeming to search for something before answering.

"The same reason any man has a child, love. And the joy of seeing your mark left on the world."

Jacob thought of his mortal father. He had no such motive for raising children; he only wanted more laborers for the fields.

The desire to share this with Rotnati was so strong that it stirred Jacob in his saddle. He lifted his head and took a breath, but the words died in his throat. The conflict inside him hurt like a physical wound. The impulses warred; would he share something of himself with this man who had shared so much, or would he only remain guarded against another immortal.

When Jacob said nothing, Rotnati also fell silent, though he watched Jacob more intently than he had before.

The quiet was a relief at first, allowing him to sort his thoughts. As the sun moved through the sky the silence seemed to grow heavy, oppressive, a weight slung between the two men which grew heavier with each step.

Finally he spoke one of the dozens of questions that cluttered his mind, no longer able to hold them all in.

"Qhei said you lived for hundreds of years without knowledge of the Game. How can that be?"

"My home was very isolated," Rotnati spoke as if the uncomfortable silence had not broken their conversation, "I had no need to leave, and no desire. I had wives, children. I was respected and honored."

Jacobed turned expecting to see a boastful smile, instead Rotnati looked melancholy.

"I would have never left my home, but the waters in our river changed - an omen most said. It was muddy and dark, and soon after men followed it. Men looking for new land to settle."

He stopped there, and Jacob could not form any other questions, though he still had many. Above all he wanted to know how Rotnati learned of the Game, about his teacher and how he'd been prepared.

That night Jacob indulged in more water than he had since before the attack. The wounded men all seemed to be recovering, and if they kept making such good time they might see the city soon.

Each day he put less effort into feigning his injury, allowing it to appear as if he were healing. On the last night of their journey he abandoned the pretense entirely.

Again he set up far from the fire. Hunger almost drove him to his feet, but before he had a chance, Rotnati approached him with food in hand.

"Were you planning to eat tonight?" As he spoke he handed Jacob a sack of flatbread and sat, half in the sand, half on Jacob's bedroll.

"I hadn't decided. I wanted to be sure those who needed it ate first." The lie did not work as well as it would have on other nights, with the knowledge their journey was nearly done.

"I think you did not want to walk through that crowd," he gestured to the closest fire where the good spirits had returned to the travelers as they spoke and sang in loud voices.

When Jacob made no reply Rotnati continued, "There is no harm in making friends, mortal or otherwise."

"Immortals are enemies, and mortals," Jacob looked to where firelight danced across smiling faces, to Al-Muizz who lead the singing, "are transient."

"Do you believe those words, or only recite them?"

At the edge of the crowd Qhei and Shu’a sat talking, heads bent together as if conspiring. Jacob watched them and ate pieces of flatbread for a long time before speaking again.

"How did you know you could trust her?" He did not point to Qhei, but Rotnati followed his gaze, "how could you know she would not try for your head? Was it that she saved your daughter?"

"I do not assume any immortal to be an enemy. The first immortals I met were like Qhei, uninterested in the Game. They taught me to be wary, taught me the rules and skills to defend myself, but also to be unafraid of our kind. They were my friends" After a pause he added, "I suspect your teachers were not the same."

Across the camp Qhei stood and scanned around her, spotting Rotnati. Jacob fidgeted and stretched his legs as she waved good-bye to Shu'a and walked toward the two men.

"No, my teacher was not like that."

Jacob looked down at the sand as Qhei approached.

"Hungry?" Rotnati gestured to the sack in Jacob's hand.

"No, I've eaten." She sat crosslegged facing them.

"Are you going to sleep tonight? You look almost as bad as this one did a few days ago." He gently punched Jacob's shoulder.

Jacob flinched, but grinned reflexively at Rotnati's goodnatured tone.

"I'd like to spar first, but I don't have the strength." She collapsed, leaning on one arm, pressing against Jacob's leg.

Doubt and worry ripped through him, turning the small meal in his belly into an uncomfortable mass. The bulge of fabric that hid her sword dominated his vision. It seemed impossible for a moment that another immortal was so close to him, touching him.

His hand went to his side, grasping for his sword, but found nothing. He cast his eyes around, seeing it leaning on his pack. The lump of nausea in his middle subsided, but was replaced with anger, anger at himself for letting his guard down so fully.

"Well my sword arm itches, maybe you would spar with me Kalin."

It took Jacob a moment to respond, still fixated on his lapse of vigilance. When he did speak, his voice betrayed his bitterness.

"I have no desire to spar."

"I'm surprised," Rotnati squinted quizzically, "I would have thought a man so dedicated to the Game would take every opportunity to practice."

"He's afraid you will learn his technique." Qhei seemed only half engaged in the conversation, her mostly closed eyes pointed toward the darkening sky.

"Are you truly still afraid that we are after your head?"

"You are immortal."

Jacob could not hold the other man's gaze. Guilt pull inside him as he turned toward the empty desert. When he turned back his face was stern, the guilt buried under Gracvious' words of warning.

The air had changed between the immortals. Qhei's eyes were open, her pale mouth a firm line. None spoke, but all were tense, as if waiting for a queue.

"It is your loss, Rotnati could have taught you something,” with her words the tension melted from Qhei and Rotnati.

Jacob realized he was on the outside again. He had been a part of something, something he did not fully understand. Only now that it was over did he see it. That moment of tension and distrust had ended it, had separated him from the others.

Qhei stood and cocked her head toward one of the fires. "They will be singing for a while more, let's join them."

Before standing to follow, Rotnati turned to Jacob one more time.

"You could live a very long time, Kalin. You might wish to think about what that really means."

As evening turned into night he watched them at the fire, somethings singing, somethings dancing, and sometimes only sitting, warm in the company of the mortals. He turned Rotnati's words over in his mind, growing more and more angry each time he recalled man's deep voice.

It was not a directed anger. He was not simply mad about Rotnati's condescension or Qhei's smug patronizing. There was no focus to the anger, it simply lashed out at each thing in turn. Anger at himself for allowing the immortals to disarm him so easily with their charm. Anger at the mortals as they broke away from the fire, laying down to rest, ignorant of the Game and the world of immortals that was so close to them.

Anger became rage as he thought of Gracvious, who had stripped him of ignorance, dooming him to live in fear of immortals and the Game.

He gathered his sword and stormed away from the camp, out into the dunes, shedding his clothes as he went. They trailed behind him as he walked further and further, his eyes all but blind as he replayed his conversations with Qhei and Rotnati, and the few short words he'd exchanged with the other immortals he'd met, all of whom had died by his hand.

When he finally turned back to see how far he'd come his heart skipped a beat. The campfires were so distant he was not sure at first they were even still in sight. Flickering light soon reassured him he had not gone too far.

He stood in nothing but thin smallclothes and closed his eyes, clearing his mind of everything but the awareness of his body and sword. It happened quickly, more so than he would have guessed. Anger, doubt, worry all melted and he was nothing more than the movements. It was like returning home, finding the safe harbor where he belonged.

Above him the stars journeyed from east to west. He spent much longer on his practice stances than he had since first learning them, reveling in the comfort of each movement. Eventually he moved on, reliving fights from his past and predicting those in the future. He imagined facing Qhei and Gracvious and the red faced immortal who had tried to befriend him on the ferry so many years ago.

A face appeared in his memory, so suddenly it snapped him out of his meditative thoughts. Young, scared, shaking from fear, it was the mortal who had driven a sword through him at the oasis. Just as he had that night, Jacob froze.

His sword hung limp in one hand, and the other hand ran over his middle were Qhei's  bandage was still tied. He pulled it off and threw it to the sand.

After two deep breaths he started again, resuming combat against his imagined enemies, but the tranquility was gone. He thought too much about each action, moving slowly and missing opportunities.

Though he did not feel fatigued, he forced himself to stop when the eastern horizon began to lighten. Sunrise was still some hours away, but he knew he must rest.

After sunrise they would make for the city, and once there he would challenge Qhei, as he had planned. Nothing either immortal had said could take away what Gracvious had buried deep inside him, the need to kill his enemy before they could kill him.

As he walked back to camp, trying in vain to find all the clothes he'd cast aside, he felt confident and calm. He would challenge Qhei, prove himself worthy of the Game.

\---

There was nothing special to mark this morning as the last one of their journey. The guides followed the same routine, the chatter and gossip was the same, and the sand and rocks looked no different than what they'd spent days traversing.

The cloudless blue sky made Jacob's eyes water if he stared at it too long; but better that than scrutinizing the yellow-orange horizon for any sign of the city. Despite his conviction, Jacob found it hard to look at the other immortals or even the other travelers, without the anger and doubt of the night before trying to take hold in his mind. So he rode at the front with the lead guides, avoiding the other riders.

Qhei and Rotnati had made no attempt to talk to him, and rode far behind. Their return to aloofness made him glad. They were done trying to break him of his convictions.

During the noon break the guides bent down for their customary prayer. It might have been the clarity of his resolution, or simply his growing familiarity with the ritual, but he felt a strange kinship while watching their movements. Their practiced motions and memorized prayers seemed so like his own ritual of practice. But it was more than that, it was their obvious devotion that stirred feelings of kinship.

He turned away and remounted his camel, trying not to linger on such feelings that might lead him back to doubt.

When the caravan was again underway Jacob found himself riding next to Al-Muizz. It had not been his intent, and he tried to steer away, but Al-Muizz, who was again riding his own camel, soon followed.

"You have worries?" he asked when he was alongside Jacob.

"No more than usual." The man was obviously confused by Jacob's phrasing, so he added, "Some worries, but they will pass."

"Man like you, should have no worries."

"Like me?"

"Strong man, brave, young."

Jacob's stomach turned at the last word. He looked at Al-Muizz, at the lines around his eyes and the grey hairs of his beard; he thought of how he would look the same if not for his immortality. It was a second later that he realized he would not have lived even as long as Al-Muizz without his immortality.

"There is much you don't know about me."

Al-Muizz waved his hand dismissively. "You are strong, worthy. That is all to know."

Jacob raised his eyebrows, "Worthy?"

"You fight, protect me, save my flower," he turned back to look at Shu'a. Jacob followed his gaze and recalled the woman's screams, and the blood smeared on her mouth from her struggle to escape. "Man who does this is worthy, should have no worries."

Jacob understood there was some larger meaning behind the man's words. Al-Muizz's sharp hazel eyes spoke of more than swordsmanship; but with so few shared words they could not truly converse about it.

The guide's face was serious as he waited for a reply.

"As you said, we are strong ones. Strong ones will always have worries."

The puzzlement on Al-Muizz's face did not look like he was working out the words. "It is not this way here," he pointed ahead at the sand and horizon, "maybe here is place for you."

It would have been too laborious to explain why he could not stay in one place, so Jacob did not, he only shook his head.

Al-Muizz reached his hand out and gripped Jacob's arm. The immortal did not flinch or pull back, he looked the man in the eye.

"In the city is my home. Stay one night or more. Leave worries in the sand."

Staring straight into his eyes, Jacob could not stop himself from nodding in consent. He pictured family, a meal, happy conversation and a comfortable bed. He looked away when he felt tears well in his eyes, ashamed and overwhelmed.

"Good." Al-Muizz either did not see the tears, or chose to ignore them.

The sun was well on its way to the horizon when the tan stone walls of the city appeared in the distance. Many of the riders kicked at their horses, shooting ahead of the others and whooping with joy.

Jacob looked at his own camel, feeling no more affection for the beast than he had one the first day of the journey. He wondered if there would be horses here, or if he would be forced to buy a camel of his own.

Guides and travelers alike were now speeding past him. Soon only a few riders still moved at the same steady pace he did, among them Qhei and Rotnati.

Qhei rode forward, coming alongside Al-Muizz. They spoke rapidly in Arabic. Jacob found himself jealous of her ability to talk to the man. By her gestures he assumed they were taking of the guide's injured leg. Al-Muizz seemed more respectful than he had been before the attack, and before she rode away he bowed his head to her and touched his brow.

Jacob swallowed hard, pushing his mind to think only of his conviction.

"Friend," the word sprung from his mouth without control. Al-Muizz spun to him. "I have unfinished business with Qhei. We will ride behind. Can I meet you at the city gates when I am done?"

"My wife waits," he smiled, "Abdu will stand at the gates, lead you to my home."

"Thank you." He bowed and steared his camel toward the immortals.

Quick whispers of doubt ran through his head. The stories Rotnati had told him, the image of Qhei in the firelight, tending Al-Muizz's wound, Qhei next to him in the sand, inches from him with no thought of her sword.

He calmed his mind as if he were already in battle, allowing the thoughts to pass and vanish, leaving only his body and his sword behind.

Rotnati held his gaze as he rode to them, Qhei looked down at her saddle. All three slowed their mounts without word. Soon they sat motionless, facing each other. All the other riders had passed, now just dots on the landscape, moving toward the still distant city.

"Who will it be then?" Qhei asked without looking up.

"Maybe you and I should fight, Qhei, and surprise the boy." Rotnati laughed, but Qhei only lifted her head, staring at Jacob.

"I challenge you, Qhei. We should fight now before we reach the city."

He expected more objections, more insistence that the Game was folly, but she only nodded and ordered her camel to the ground so she could dismount. The immortals exchanged brief words in a language Jacob did not recognize. So braced was he against a rebuttal that their acceptance left him off balance. He dismounted, with less ease than Qhei.

Rotnati kicked his camel and made toward the city, not looking back.

Long shadows extended out from each immortal, stretching across the yellow-orange sand. Jacob pulled off the white scarf that covered his head. A light breeze blew across his neck, cooling and calming him. The leather grip of his sword felt reassuring in his hand, relieving some of the unease in his mind. He held it as he approached her, but did not yet draw.

As he closed the distance to Qhei he quickly recalled what he knew of her skill. She was fast, sometimes feigned injury or miss-footing, and in each practice bout he had seen she had let Rotnati strike first.

She inclined her head slightly to him, then stood waiting, the small blue tassels dangling from the hilt of each blade. Sunlight flashed in his eyes as he brought his own blade up at the ready.

Jacob inclined his head and waited. Wind blew sand across the ground and over their feet. Neither immortal moved. Qhei's eyes bore into him, unflinching. He told himself they were the eyes of a stranger, that there was nothing behind them but intent to kill him. That she was no different than all the others he'd killed.

Before that thought could be replaced with another, before his mind was lost, unfocused by doubt, he struck. She easily deflected his first blows, but he expected that. He was testing her defense.

In the heat of battle it was hard to keep track of her two swords. After his initial attacks she made a few quick offensive moves, one connecting with his left shoulder before he could pull away. Though the wound was slight, it sent a wave of panic through him. He had not seen it coming, and was unsure he could block another like it.

He decided to push his advantage immediately rather than risk her taking another unexpected hit. Heaving his shoulder at her, he shifted his sword to one hand. He connected with her arm, shoving it into her chest. Her short sword flailed wildly, almost striking her in the face. He gripped her wrist with his free hand, his fingers digging into her skin, and jerked her arm up, exposing her middle.

As he brought his sword up to strike, she spun and twisted under his arm, dragging her longer sword across his chest, leaving a deep, bloody gash. He did not let go, but shoved into her again, slamming his shoulder into her chest. She teetered off balance, but managed to bring a foot up to kick him hard in the knee. His leg buckled and he lost the grip on her wrist.

He staggered backward quickly, trying to keep out of the range of her blades. When he looked up she too was recovering, still trying to find her footing. Unwilling to let her regain her balance he rushed forward, his sword raised to slash at her right hand, and hopefully disarm her of one weapon.

In his haste, Jacob had not regained his own footing, and his feet slid on the sand as he approached, giving her ample time to block him and bring her other sword around for an attack. It bit deep into his arm, and the grip on his sword slacked without his control. He only had time to process this before another cut was opened, this time on his back.

Spinning to block, he lost track completely of Qhei and her blades, unsure if she was behind him or in front of him.

A pain, so intense it caused him to buckle and collapse, spread out from the small of his back. The hand that still held loosely to his sword sunk to the ground. The blade laid flat. His knees sunk into hot sand and he reached for his back, all instinct to fight gone to the inescapable need to end the pain.

He barely noticed when his sword was kicked away. When his mind was again clear enough to think he saw a long shadow on the ground before him. He did not know if Qhei had stood over him for mere moments, or if he had spent much longer on his knees, consumed by the pain.

The shadow of her sword, darkening the ground before him, told him her blade was against his neck; he could not feel it.

He breathed heavily and closed his eyes.

"Fifty-seven?"

It took Jacob a moment to realize she was talking to him. He opened his eyes and tilted his head up to see her.

"You must have had a good teacher that you can fight so well already."

Her eyebrows were raised slightly, as if looking at some curiosity. Her feet rustled through the sand as she backed away, still pointing her long blade at him. Her short blade was back in its sheath. He saw his own sword on the ground behind her.

"What is this?" he asked, lifting his head, but not standing.

"This was a surprisingly close fight, I was afraid I'd made the wrong choice."

"To face me?"

"To not kill you." She backed away further, but not far enough that he could reach for his sword. "I did not press you hard when we started, I thought I could disarm you and be done with this nonsense, but you are apparently justified to be so cocky. If you had more practice fighting on sand I might have just lost my head."

He pushed himself up, slowly rising to his feet. His back protested, whatever wound she'd given him was still far from healed. The fight had not felt so close to him, but he did not let surprise or confusion reach his face.

"So you refuse to take my head?"

"If you wish to continue this fight, I will take your head," her brown eyes seemed to shine for a moment, "but you can walk away now if you choose."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Rotnati said I should just kill you, one less fool out there to worry about." For some reason it hurt Jacob to think of Rotnati saying those things. He pictured the man's smiling face and frowned. "But I think it would be a waste. None of us should be punished for the reckless choices we make when we are young."

He swallowed hard, his eyes moving between her drawn sword and his in the sand. Qhei was uninjured, her muscles still tensed enough to spring back into a fight. The horrifying uncertainty replayed in his mind, the moment when he had lost track even of where she stood, let alone where her blades were. Fighting her again would risk more than he was willing.

"I will ride away now," she lowered her blade, but did not sheath it.

He nodded, wiping sand from his pant legs. "Fine."

She watched him, and did not put her sword away until she was remounted and moving toward the city. He did not move except to flex his back and test his range of motion.

Qhei was a black dot against the city walls when he finally stepped forward and picked up his sword. It looked different to him. The only other fight he'd lost with that sword was to Gracvius, and that had been because of his own choice. He felt less connected to it now. It no longer provided him the same comfort or feel of belonging.

The camel sat waiting, chewing its cud and swishing its short tail. Instead of climbing onto the saddle, Jacob commanded the animal to its feet and led it by the reins. He pulled off his bloodstained shirt and put on the last fresh shirt in his pack.

Wind had already cleared away the hoofprints of the others riders who made their way to the city. His mind was more at ease than it had been since the riots started at the coast. It was more than the simple relief that the conflict with Qhei was over. Each time he tried to think of the events of the journey he came back to the simple image of Al-Muizz's bright smile and the knowledge that a warm house waited for him.

When he thought of the other immortals it was only to be glad they were gone.

Abdu sat cross-legged in the dirt just past the gate, looking bored and picking at his fingernails. He jumped up as Jacob approached.

Without words Abdu took the camel and handed him off to another man. Together they carried Jacob's packs through the street as the last rays of sunlight faded into purple streaks.


End file.
